


Origin - Through pain and rage we will remain

by Marro



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Aeryn is a brat, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Argis tries to parent, Blood and Gore, Drama, Emotional Health Issues, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Humor, I love these two idiots, M/M, Main POV Argis, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Questing, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Suggestive past abuse, Swearing, Tags May Change, There Are A Lot Of Issues, a for effort, and a drama queen, he deserves an award for most impressive patience, he does his best though, not cooping with stress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:47:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 108,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23614726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marro/pseuds/Marro
Summary: It isn't Argis place to question what his Thane does and doesn't do. His job is to protect and serve, and that he does. However, as his Thane is obviously hiding something dark and pained behind those honeyed words, something that might end him before he can end the World-Eater, Argis can't help but step beyond his boundaries to try and save the young elf from himself.Question is; will he be able to untangle the endless mess of emotional wounds without falling into a dark place himself? And what happens when he discovers new sides of this bitter man that spark inappropriate feelings?
Relationships: Argis the Bulwark/Male Bosmer, Argis the Bulwark/Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn
Comments: 103
Kudos: 108





	1. Introductions - Not fooling me

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write more about my favorite boys, especially about how they came to be, and now I finally got the inspiration to. None of my fics are beta read, and this isn't either.
> 
> Feel free to comment your thoughts! They're amazing fuel to keep writing. Hope you'll enjoy!
> 
> Also, I only own Aeryn, everything else belongs to Bethesda, you know the drill.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argis has never had a problem getting along with his clients, and, despite being a bit daunted by his new position next to the Dragonborn, of all people, he's certain it won't be a bigger issue than usual. Though it only takes a moment to realize that the elf's got no intention of letting him in behind his protective shell, and another to realize that there's something alarmingly wrong with those dazzling smiles and nonchalant laughs.
> 
> However, it's not his problem, and the guy's Housecarl, it's not up to him to interfere.
> 
> ... _Right?_

“Wouldn’t you prefer a tumbler for your drink, my Thane? That bottle looks a bit dusty.”

“Don’t bother, Argis, that would be wasting a perfectly clean glass! I can do without just fine. Besides,” the Bosmer arches his neck over the headrest to squint at him, struggling to focus his hazy gaze. He flashes a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not like I’m going to put it back on the shelf, anyway.”

“Oh. Alright. As you wish, my Thane.” 

Seems to be one of those days. Again.

-

Hating to admit it, Argis expected the hero from the tales to be a Nord this time around. 

It made sense with their old history and with Dragons being a revered part of their religion. There hasn't been a Nord Dragonborn for decades and, being blessed with the chance of living in the same year as another emerges, though cursed with the resurrection of the Dragons, Argis' immediate thought was that they must be a Nord like himself. So, seeing a red-haired, bow-wielding Bosmer half his height and width saunters through the gates of Markarth’s ancient keep and up the stairs, confirming the rumors, had been… Unexpected. It wasn’t his place to judge, though, and he settled on being grateful that there existed a person destined to save them. Him being an elf doesn't change anything; he's still their one hope for survival.

Maybe it had been faith that the guy showed up in Markarth when he did, in the middle of the Forsworn attacks, because they ceased within three weeks of his arrival. There had been a bloody onslaught for a finale, killing men and women on both sides and brought the city into days of mourning, but, once the blood had been washed off the streets and the drains flowed clear once again, it fell into peaceful times. The Dragonborn never claimed to be involved in the mess, but everyone assumed he was simply because of his title.

To some, the guy’s arrival had been a blessing, and to others served as a painful attestation that the return of the World Eater hadn’t been a drunken tale. Perhaps, that’s why he appeared so nonchalant about the entire ordeal, to keep people from panicking? At least that’s how he came across; jaunty without a problem in the world. Sure, he seemed to take the matters seriously, but his demeanor was calm and collected. A bit _too_ calm and collected.

No matter what, it didn’t take long before he impressed the Jarl enough to be entitled Thane and jumped on the chance of buying a property within the walls. The ridiculous amount of gold he paid for the house and several renovations must’ve come from slaying Dragons, as Argis couldn't imagine how else someone was able to pay off a property in one go.

Soon after the purchase, an Arena Champion replaced Argis to guard the Jarl, and he was promoted, or demoted, depending on how you see it, to Housecarl of the Dragonborn. Now _that_ was an exciting letter to write home about. 

To Argis, it couldn't have been a greater honor to stand by the side of a hero, though it's just as anxiety-inducing; being in charge of protecting the sole person who can end Alduin? While the Jarl has been trusting him with his life these last years and gave little thought to his abilities when assigning him to the Thane, it didn't stop Argis from doubting his own skills. What if he fails to protect him? What if the Dragonborn dies on his watch? Ysmir's beard, that's not a report he wants to write.

These thoughts and more he tried to shake off while ascending the many flights of stairs to reach his new living quarters, shared with the Dragonborn; Vlindrel Hall.

The house was an impressive work of architecture, even to him and his lack for interest in design, and whoever had been in charge of the renovations had done the place great justice; a spacious room for dining and lounging with a massive hearth with an ornate mantle in the center; colored draping over the windows to contrast the gray walls; large rugs with intricate patterns and gold rims rolled out to add both comfort and softness to the stone flooring; massive furniture with plush pillows and carved legs. They’d done an excellent job of turning the ancient stone building into a cozy home. Even his bedroom had more details than he expected it to, adding a couple of paintings, a fluffy rug, throw blankets, shelves, and a ridiculously big closet. If he’d known that he’d be spending most of his days in the house alone, he wouldn’t have rolled his eye at the excessive work they put into his personal space.

This day had also been the first day he got to meet with the Dragonborn in a relaxed environment, as the first proper meeting had been introductions and contract writing to officialize Argis employment and what terms coming with it. His Thane had already arrived at the house when he showed up, busy marveling at the elaborate patterns carved into the bearing columns in the dining area, running a slender finger along the intricate swirls.

“My Thane,” Argis had greeted solemnly, sliding his backpack off his shoulder. “It’s an honor that you accepted me to be at your service. I will do my very best to protect you and your home. If there is anything you need, I am yours to command.”

“I have no doubt about that,” his Thane responded nonchalantly without taking his eyes off the column. “Though there’s no need to be so formal.” He turned his head to meet Argis’ gaze, a slight smile on his lips. “In the end, I’m just a person. Aeryn is fine.”

It was the first proper look Argis got at the guy and was reminded again that he’s _tiny._ His scalp barely reaches up the middle of Argis’ chest, like most Bosmers, add another few inches with his mohawk. Though it’s unfair to compare anybody’s height to him; he’s taller than most by at least half a head. Being tall and burly with a solid chest earned him what began in the army as a teasing nickname that later came to be his closest thing to a title; the Bulwark.

When it came to life-threatening situations, his appearance did him many favors, such as scaring bandits away and giving thieves second thoughts on trying their hands on his pockets. Though, on the downside, he couldn’t count on two hands how many times he’s been assumed to be brainless simply because he struggles to fit a regular-sized doorframe.

Aeryn does, though; he’s small. Well, not necessarily small; lithe, perhaps, from what Argis could tell from his fitted leather armor. He had some of the typical Bosmerian characteristics; olive skin, a turned-up nose, and almond-shaped eyes that probably weren’t as green as they appeared in the lanternlight, but green nonetheless. His face was smoother than other Bosmers Argis had encountered. Sure, there’s the strong jawline and defined cheekbones, but he’s missing that sharp chin and distinct creases on his forehead. 

Like for most people, scars adorned his face, most prominently a deep gash across the bridge of his nose and down below his left eye. One scar split his eyebrow in two, and another ran from his jaw down the side of his neck. Argis barely met anyone who wasn’t scarred, either from blades or accidents, himself being no exception; losing his eye had left a deep, jagged groove across the left side of his face, from the top of his eyebrow to the middle of his cheek. The injury might as well have killed him, so the days his reflection is a bitter reminder of what he's come to look like, he could at least be grateful that he’s still alive. And it does take the attention off his broken nose.

What also stuck out to Argis was the number of rings in his pointed ears, all silver; fourteen of them in total and one snuggly fitted around his left nostril. Getting caught in any of them must be a sore pain, which is why he never got any himself. The tattoo of his family’s crest was enough. Gods, his mother had a few opinions when he turned up with red paint etched into his cheek.

“My Thane, you are not just _any_ person,” Argis insisted. “Not only have you gained the highest regarding title of the Hold; you are the Dragonborn. I couldn’t possibly treat you with anything other than my utmost respect.”

“Titles tend to have that effect.” The elf sighed and let his hand fall to his side. “I do try to put them to good use.” His smile weakened. "Though, because of them, people tend to expect miracles, and, as I said, I'm just a person. Who just happens to kill Dragons a bit better than others."

Argis nodded. ”Sounds like a heavy burden to carry, with everyone's expectations and hopes. If I can, I will help ease some of it for you, as well as keeping you safe when facing these beasts.” Not that Argis had any idea of what a Dragon looked up close or how to slay one, but he’d do his best or die trying. He's a good listener, though.

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” The Thane chuckled and turned to lean his side against the column, clutching his hands in front of his body. “It’s fine. I’ve been doing this for some time now; I know the drill. Find a Dragon, don’t get eaten, collect the coin, and tell the tale. Repeat.”

Argis frowned at the lack of concern about the subject. “My Thane, with respect, don’t you fear for all the damage and the deaths that the Dragons are causing?”

“Not really. I mean -” He cleared his throat. “It’s _bad_. But having sleepless nights over it won’t help, right? It’s not like I’m not reminded of it every single day.”

There came the first sign that not everything was quite as it should, that ensuring smile that didn’t match his somber eyes. Probably a smile he’s showed a hundred others; those who fear for their lives with the tales of the World-Eater coming true overnight. A smile meant to offer comfort in this time of uncertainty and create a sense of trust that this guy will bring evil to an end.

Argis didn’t believe it for a second.

How could he tell? Well, not only had it been his job during the last couple of years to identify odd behaviors in the people having an audience with the Jarl in order to detect if someone planned on harming him, but it also became a pastime hobby in order not to go insane from the constant bickering about politics; practicing his eye on different tells, expressions, tones of voice to figure out what they were thinking or feeling. Also? The elf had poor acting skills.

-

Living under the same roof as another usually results in getting to know them, whether you try to or not - Argis even learned a bit about that glaring Altmer Ondolemar from his time in the Understone Keep - but the Dragonborn held a tight grip on his personal life. It wasn’t a problem; not everyone enjoys sharing stories about themselves to strangers, but he almost exclusively kept to himself, either locked up in his room or in the study, only showing up to eat and drink. Perhaps it was a matter of getting settled, that he had a lot of work to catch up with before getting comfortable and able to take a few days to relax, as the responsibility he carried undoubtedly eats up a lot of time. But, once he started mingling in the dining area more often, it didn’t take long before he up and left for a week.

This was the start of three long, frustrating months where Argis was stuck looking after a luxurious estate while the guy he was supposed to protect snuck away in the midst of the night and didn’t return until several days later, claiming that he preferred to do things alone, in his way, and that it “wasn’t that dangerous” when Argis questioned if it was wise to leave without him.

For years, Argis had been standing around with a growing ache to get out on the road again, and being in the service of the Dragonborn had been his once chance to re-light that dream without having to sacrifice any pay or risk not getting any assignments. Yet, there he stood, guarding a door like a chained dog.

It was also the start of what would be Argis silent mission of figuring out what was really going on inside his Thane’s head as he acted like nothing in the world bothered him while refusing to open up about, well, anything. To find out what stirred behind that dazzling smile when the fourth or fifth courier came knocking on the door before dinner, each with a letter more urgent than the previous. Or when they walked in the city and one citizen after another came up to express their concern about the world or their loved ones or needed his help to find or rescue or figure out or kill, and he vowed to assist them all.

One of the tells that things weren’t as good as they appeared to was how the Dragonborn deflected Argis concerns about his mental health by undermining the weight of the world hanging on his shoulders; another was the increasing amount of alcohol he consumed.

It was subtle at first; a couple of glasses of wine for dinner, a tumbler of brandy with a book by the fireplace, taste-testing whatever new brands he brought back home from wherever he’d been. Then came _smell_ , the pungent whiffs of liquor following the elf when he came home from another job or spent the evening at the Inn. Sometimes, he stumbled in through the door, using the walls to steady himself, and each time Argis sent his gratitude to Ysmir that he hadn’t fallen down the stairs leading up to the property. Other than those few instances, he masked it well.

Then came the decline of the elf’s mood; the smiles didn’t stretch as far, the circles around his eyes grew darker while his gaze lost that familiar gleam. Once, when passing his Thane’s bedroom as he exited, a miasma of stale alcohol hung around him like early morning fog on a field.

Some nights, he’d be curled up in the chunky armchair by the hearth and stare into the spitting flames, clasping a bottle like it was the one thing anchoring him to this dimension, resting his head in the other hand. For a split second, when Argis approached, there was a vacant stare in his red-rimmed eyes before they lit up in forced attentiveness.

So, Argis brought it up, and his Thane denied everything.

When asking if something was bothering him? _“Nope, nothing bothering, everything is fine!”_

When asked if he’s feeling stress or any sort of mental impact from being such an important person tasked with saving the world? _“Nah, it’ll be fine, just going one day at a time!”_

And about the drinking? _“It’s not that much, can’t I enjoy a glass if I like? What are you, my parent? Mind your own business.”_

Given a few weeks, it all boiled down to recognizing his Thane’s evasive, jovial behavior as a carefully built facade to hide all his mental struggles in order to appear unaffected by everything happening. Argis knew that look, sadly, and watching the elf play pretend about the pain behind his eyes challenged his patience.

So, when Argis accidentally finds out that that the elf has decided to leave Markarth for Solitude, on his own, he puts his foot down.

“Come on, Argis, you worry too much!” Aeryn chuckled, dismissively flicking his hand. “I traveled across half the province by myself. I’m not in a sudden need of assistance. Besides, who’s going to look after this place if I bring you along?”

To be degraded from Housecarl to Housekeeper doesn’t do Argis’ ego any good, but he keeps it to himself, instead sighing internally while his Thane flitters across the house to collect things for the journey, tapping his fingers on the dining table. The chair creaks under his weight when he shifts. “My Thane, while I do not question your capability of taking care of yourself, I do insist on following you.” If only to keep him from drinking himself to death or drunkenly fall into a lake. “Besides, you would travel faster with a companion who can help you fight. And I’m sure the Jarl has someone who can look after your home in the meantime.”

“First of all, please, there’s no need to call me that _all the time_ , Aeryn is just fine. And I don’t doubt for a second that you’re a good fighter!” He stops and eyes the Nord up that cheerful smile plastered onto his face. By Ysmir, Argis is so sick of it. “I bet you’re really handy to have around in combat; you’ve got the whole...” He gesticulates up and down along Argis hefty features. “... Warrior thing going on, which I’m sure would be a nice compliment to my archer thing. But.” He folds a piece of clothing into a neat square at the end of the table, then rolls it up. “I’d rather go by myself.”

There’s a faint cracking when Argis’ jaw clench, his deep pool of patience slowly running dry. It’s day three of trying to convince the elf not to leave by himself, and there hasn’t been any progress. There’s an audible strain in his voice when he speaks again. “Might I ask why you want to travel without company, my Thane?”

The elf rolls his eyes, grimacing while mouthing “my Thane”, and carefully packs the shirt into his saddle-bag. “Because, _again_ , there’s no need. I’m perfectly capable, and I don’t need chaperoning.” His voice cracks a little, and annoyance seeps through. A reaction, at last. Argis is surprised that the Dragonborn hasn't revoked their contract by now, with Argis' persistent arguing. “I’m sure you’re capable, but I don’t need your service.”

As he keeps picking up and packing things, Argis fingers clench around the tankard. _Breathe._ “My Thane, as your Housecarl, it is my duty to protect and -”

“Y’ffre’s flaming fucking roots, yes, **House** carl!” Aeryn explodes and knocks his quiver off the table, scattering arrows across the floor. Argis stares at him, eye wide as a plate as ice pools in his stomach. While wanting a reaction, the plan wasn’t to stir up a fight. “Not ‘travel-carl’, not ‘battle-carl’ and **not** ‘companion-carl’!” He throws his arms out. “Why do you keep pestering me about this? You make such a big deal out of being ‘honorable’ and ’at my service’ every fucking day, but you refuse to respect my decisions! Can’t you just get over the fact that I’m leaving, alone, and that I don’t want you to come with - ”

The Dragonborn chokes on his words and flinches when Argis slams his tankard onto the table, causing an eruption of mead to splash onto his hand and the embroidered placemat. _That’s it._ Being yelled at was one thing; being degraded to a simple servant was another, but having his honored questioned by someone who can’t even deal with his own hardships? Now, that’s just insulting.

“Why do you keep insisting that you can do everything by yourself when you’re barely holding up as it is?!” he barks and shoots up from the chair with such force it slams to the floor, ignoring the voice in the back of his head ordering him to stand down. “Don’t you ever get sick of playing pretend?”

The elf gawks from across the table, then scowls and curls back his upper lip, displaying a sharp set of canines that resembles nothing close to human. Argis swallows. “How _dare_ you speak like that to me?” he snarls darkly. “You have no right to question my decisions, _Housecarl_ , and don’t you dare act like you know anything abo - !”

“I may only have one eye, _my Thane_ , but I’m not blind!” Argis interrupts. “Do you think I don’t see your pain and fake smiles?” When the elf doesn’t retort immediately, he moves around the table. “I watch you struggle to keep yourself together day after day, to keep up with all the letters, the requests, I hear everyone talking about how you're our savior. Don’t you think I see the pressure you’re under?”

“I haven’t asked for your opinion on me or my life!” Aeryn spits and steps back, eyes shooting up when Argis moves closer, his face blanching. “And I don’t want it! It’s - it’s not your damn business - !”

“It is my business!” Argis barks and takes four long strides to close the distance between them. His Thane stumbles backward, catching himself on a bookshelf by the wall. His flickering gaze is easy to read, so Argis quickly boxes him in by slamming his hands onto a shelf on each side of the elf’s lithe body, ignoring the frightened yelp. “It _is_ my business,” he repeats, breathing hard when they lock eyes, “Because it is my job to keep you alive and safe, and I can’t do that when you keep running away from me or when you pretend like you aren’t being crushed under everyone’s expectations. If you keep going like this, it won’t be the World Eater that ends you.”

Aeryn stares at him, mouth opening and closing a few times, then he breaks eye-contact, his shoulders drooping. The pause is enough for the fire to die down in Argis’ chest. Well, that hit a nerve. “Let me ask you again; _why_ do you insist on going alone?”

Defiance flares up in those green eyes, though the light doesn’t remain for long when Argis tips his head to the side and offers a hesitant smile. He waits, breathes, while Aeryn tugs and picks at his fingers with a bitter pout. Then,

“Because, um... Because people end up dying around me,” he mumbles while picking a grain of dirt from underneath his nail. “I’ve had people follow me around, and no one made it back. I’ve gotten all of them killed by traps or Dragon’s fire or wounds or whatever.”

Argis frowns. “If your companions have died from being stupid, that’s not your fault. But, why did you say that you’ve always been alone?”

Aeryn groans and shuffles his feet. “Because it’s the same thing! They’ve all died, so I ended up alone. You expect me to go on about how everyone who wanted to ‘oh so bravely’ aid me ended up dead?” He huffs and flashes a defiant glare before continuing in a somber tone, “I stopped bringing people along months ago. It isn’t worth it. Besides, it’s my curse to carry. It’s only fair that I do it alone.”

A long moment of silence follows and lends Argis time to process the information and further calm down. If that’s the case, it makes sense that the elf doesn't want him to join even on the simplest errand. If anyone knows what it’s like to watch people die around you, it’s Argis, and hopefully more so than the young Dragonborn ever will. War is an ugly thing, no matter how briefly you partake in it.

“I see,” he murmurs thoughtfully, then steps back to create some distance between them.

There’s a defeated expression on Aeryn’s face once he lifts his head, like he’s been wading through an endless bog for days without a single ray of sunshine. The look twists Argis’ stomach. How much energy goes into hiding it, how many bottles that’s been emptied to suppress it? “You know that the stress is likely to take you out before bandits or Dragons, yes?”

Aeryn folds his arms while rolling his eyes. “Geez, _Amil_ , it’s not _that_ bad.”

Choosing to ignore what might be an insult, Argis mimics the stance and shifts his weight to one leg. “No? Then how come not a single day has passed without you having at least half a bottle of wine?”

“Maybe I just like the taste?”

“And the side-effect of forgetting that the entire population's survival hangs around your neck?”

Aeryn wets his lips and moves his hands to his hips, chest expanding in a defiant posture, but no answer comes despite the deep creases on his forehead. It’s enough for Argis’ mouth to curl into a slight smirk as he might’ve won his first argument. The elf rubs his face with a groan.

“It’s not like it’s a _problem_ ,” he snorts and flicks invisible dust off his chest. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. And who knows, perhaps Alduin just needs a drink, and he’ll calm his ass down. We might throw a party, even.”

“You jest, my Thane.” Argis sighs. Does he take anything seriously? And also, how old is he even? Because the way he shuffles his feet around and refuses to hold eye contact resembles a petulant kid more than an adult.

“Wow, strong _and_ clever, how lucky am I.”

“Please, my Thane, let me join you,” Argis repeats, holding a palm up when Aeryn opens his mouth. “I am fully aware of the risks. You have told me of the fate of your former companions, and I have no fear of dying. I have been standing guard for a long time, and I want to get out of this place and kill something.”

Aeryn cocks an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting itch, but I suppose I get that. But, you know,” a grave expression grows on his face. “I have no idea how long I’ll be on the road, but it won’t be just a few days or weeks. It’s been almost a year already, and it might take several more.”

“I am aware of that.” Argis nods. “I am not bound to this place; my service is to you, my Thane. Wherever your quest takes you, I shall follow.”

Aeryn blinks, taken aback. “Oh... Wow, that’s very, uh... _Committal._ ”

“It is my duty as your Housecarl to -”

“Yes, yes, I get that.” Aeryn dismissively waves him off. “I just... Never mind. It’s going to be dangerous, you know? We’ll be facing everything from vampires to giants to bandits to bedbugs.”

“Understood, my Thane.”

“We might never stay in one place for longer than a night, fight for our lives at least thrice a day and hunt for food.”

“Understood, my Thane.”

“And we might need to partake in Hagraven orgies and offer blood to the Daedras.”

“Whatever you need of me, my Thane.”

By then, Aeryn’s face has scrunched up, and he inhales deliberately, speaking through his teeth. “I’m not going to talk you out of this, am I?”

“No, you are not,” Argis confirms and bites down a grin at the fall on Aeryn’s face. “As I said; death is not a fear of mine. I’d rather die by your side out in the wild than from old age in this hold.”

Aeryn mutters a long sentence in a language Argis don’t understand, probably for the best, then settles his hands on his hips. “Alright, _fine_ , you can come along,” he yields, and Argis heart flutters. “Hurry up and pack your things; we are leaving right now. And if you die on the way, I’ll leave you to rot.”

Immediately, Argis hurries across the room, a satisfied smile on his lips, when Aeryn adds, “On one condition!”

Argis swings around. “Yes, my Thane?”

“The second we leave these walls, if you call me _'my Thane'_ again, I’ll dismember you.”

Chuckling, Argis nods. “Whatever you need of me, _my Thane_. “

When Aeryn responds by grabbing a plate from the table and aiming it his way, Argis dashes out of the room, the elf shouting that he better clean up the mess on the table before they leave.

Finally, he’s going back on the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amil is the elven name for Mother in Sindarin, Tolkien's elven language that I used because I could not find it in Bosmeris.


	2. What's worse than war?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of standing guard next to dusty old politicians, Argis' main hobby of deciphering expressions and attempted mind reading has become somewhat of a skill. And, when Aeryn suddenly shows a side of himself that Argis never expected, or hoped, to see, he doesn't need to tap particularly deep into that talent to figure out that the elf is dragging a heavy past along.
> 
> What could possibly have happened for him to act so irrationally all of a sudden?

Once outside of the city walls and heading north, Markarth is a pleasant view to have over the shoulder. 

Warmth fills Argis' chest despite Rain's Hand's chilly winds sweeping down between the rocky formations bordering the old cobbled road. He inhales deeply and smiles at the scent of wet stone and freshly cut wood it brings.

The snow has begun melting in the region, leaving the road covered in brown slush that sploshes under the weights of their horses. Many fields remain perfectly white still, at least until the sun brings more force, providing a beautiful view whenever there's a gap in the rocky fence. The direction they are heading probably hasn't welcomed spring yet, which Argis doesn't mind. Crispy cold winter is his preferred element, and it's more comfortable adding layers rather than sweating in one.

Gods, how long has it been since he left the city? It must've been about one year since he ventured further than to Savius farm, visiting his family in Rorikstead to celebrate First Planting. It's always bittersweet to return home, to meet with friends and old neighbors only to up and return too soon. While appreciating his work and devoting himself to be the best at it, the thought of home pulls at his heartstrings from time to time.

Maybe being back on the move will help keep his mood up? It'll be interesting to see how long he'll be away, and what happens after Solitude, if there's a possibility to visit Rorikstead while they're on the move. Being a companion to the Dragonborn must involve more excitement than escorting a group of pompous nobles from Whiterun. Certainly more death, from what Aeryn just told him, but Argis thinks higher of himself than being someone who'll stumble over a trap.

"So, my Thane - "

"There was _one_ condition, Argis. Remember what that was?" Aeryn teases and cocks an eyebrow, glancing in his direction. "Unless you want to lose a limb or two, just say the word. I'm happy to oblige."

"Ah, right. My apologies." Argis coughs into his fist. "Tell me, how do I pronounce your name?"

"Aaa _E_ r _Y_ nn."

"Aa _E_ r _I_ nn." Argis tastes the name with his tongue, though it doesn't sound quite right. "Aerin?"

"Aer _Y_ n. Yyyn."

"Aer **Y** n?"

"Good enough." He shoots the Nord a dazzling fake smile. "Now, that's the only name I want to go by, alright?"

"As you wish. So, hm, Aeryn, might I ask why we are going to Solitude?"

"Well, you asked to come along, and here we are," Aeryn replies nonchalantly. Argis gives him a puzzled look. "What, am I wrong? That's what you asked."

"No, well, yes, but what _business_ do you have in Solitude, then?"

"None, in particular, it's the capital city, right? I haven't been there yet, and I'd love to see it! Also, I heard that they have a talented Fletcher that I'd like to visit."

Regarding the many blatant lies Aeryn has told these past months, Argis would be surprised if that's the entire truth, but it isn't his place to question. He's already pushed past the appropriate behavior of a Housecarl by losing his temper earlier, so the least he can do is respect the guy's travel plans. Also, Solitude will be a welcome change of scenery.

"I want to apologize for this morning," he says as they follow the road through the first proper intersection, the knot of guilt still taking up space in his stomach. He shifts his gaze from the rooftops of Karthwagen, passing on their right, to Aeryn. "It isn't my place to question your choices, and I shouldn't have acted the way I did. I hope that you can forgive me."

"Nah, don't worry about it, it's fine." Aeryn waves his excuse away with a slight smile. "I forgive you."

Argis frowns. "Just like so?" He isn't even curious about why he lost his temper?

"What, you want me to whip your back and drag you behind my horse? It's not that I enjoy being scolded, thank you very much, and I'd prefer if you didn't do it again, you know?"

"Certainly, my Th – Aeryn. I have no intention of repeating my ill-mannered behavior."

"Good, then there's no problem! All is forgiven."

-

The first day passes without much excitement, which's likely due to the significant number of guards that patrol the roads leading to and from the capital. More merchants and nobles travel these roads than any others, many of them of great importance to keep the city going. Foods, clothes, weapons, fabrics, and whatnot's that keeps trade alive between townsfolk and wares to keep the parties alive at the Blue Palace. Trying to get to Falkreach in one piece, on the other hand, that's a different kind of story.

With each passing carriage they greet, Aeryn's manner of speech starts coming across as odd. Whenever the elf visited the Understone Keep, he spoke like a lord, born with a gilded spoon in his mouth, twisting his tongue in ways that swayed both the Jarl and his council into favoring him. When they were officially introduced to write the contract, he was a bit _too_ well-spoken compared to the Bosmers Argis has crossed paths with around Skyrim. They were all chirping and babbling with such speed it forces you to strain your ears. Aeryn, on the other hand, speaks deliberately and clearly.

Now, Bosmerian culture isn't something he's well-read in, and maybe Aeryn wasn't even born in Valenwood, but it sparks his interest as to why an elf speaks upper-class Cyrodilic. Not that he hasn't tried to find out; he asked about his Thane's origin on different occasions since they met to no avail. _"I don't see how that's important?"_ He'd say, then ignore him.

"Aeryn, may I ask you a personal question?"

The elf hums. "No promises, but go ahead."

"Were you born in Skyrim?"

"Damn, you don't give up, do you?" Aeryn says, chuckling as he meets Argis' gaze with a curved eyebrow. Argis silently prays to Shore for an answer, and, after about one minute, it comes; "No. I was born in Valenwood. In Falinesti." 

"I see. What is it like there?"

"Hot as a desert and muggy as a marsh," Aeryn replies. He keeps his eyes on the road ahead while he continues. "Horrible weather for anyone who wants to have their hair in any other way than flat and damp. Useless to take a bath as well, you'll be just as sticky seconds later."

"I bet that's a hassle," Argis says. Aeryn's vivid, reddish mohawk stands up either by itself or with the help of wax, and to keep it that way in humid weather must've been a struggle, with or without products.

"Yeah. Except for the heat, it's a beautiful place, especially compared to this barren land." He snorts and looks out across the endless scenery of pine trees and rocks. "Lush, dense woods filled with incredible animals and colorful plants. Light seeping down between the tree crowns. Peace and calm." Sighing, he glances at Argis. "I lived in a giant tree, you know?"

Argis attempts to imagine what it would be like to have his home far up in a tree, what it might look like, and how it would feel to walk amongst the crowns. Spontaneously, he'd rather stay on the ground. "I've heard about this, but I wasn't sure if it was true?"

"It's true. Some live on the ground, but most of us were born up above. Gigantic oaks with levels upon levels of platforms, housing hundreds of families, markets, and taverns." He waves his hand across the sky, smiling. "To move between districts, you have to go by elevated ferries. It a magical place."

Judging by Aeryn's tone, he must miss his homeland. Argis never got a chance to properly ask about his Thane's backstory since he either wasn't at home or he was busy drinking his worries away. It isn't his place to pry; if the guy didn't want to share details about himself, Argis isn't the one to persist. Though it's hard not to be intrigued by the secrecy.

"So... How did you end up in Skyrim? If you don't mind me asking," he inquires after a moment. The smile fades from Aeryn's face.

"My feet brought me here."

Ah, there he is. The jester.

"I see. And how come they did that?"

"Well, you see." He smirks and gives Argis a knowing look. "I didn't have a horse."

The facade.

Aeryn looks back at the road and kicks his massive, fifteen hand tall stallion into a trot, ending the discussion. Given little choice, Argis drops the subject, for now, determined to find out the truth one day. Hopefully, Aeryn will be the one to feel comfortable sharing his story so that Argis doesn't have to try and coax it out of him.

The rumors about how the Dragonborn was captured on the border to Cyrodiil has passed his ears on a few occasions, that the guy was about to be beheaded together with Ulfric Stormcloak and a group of prisoners, and that the World Eater had intervened, giving him a chance to flee. The rest of the story is a mismatch of exaggerated theories, including everything from the Dragonborn running away and conspiring with Ulfric to creative tales of him turning into a Dragon himself and flying off to the volcanoes of Solhsteim. The only fact is that Helgen was destroyed; the rest are rumors and subjects for speculation. Perhaps he'll get the honor of hearing the real story one day.

-

During the four and a half nights it takes them to get to Solitude, they encounter two groups of bandits, the first one on their second day, just as they reach the road from the spot in the woods where they camped. It's a trio of men playing toll collectors, displaying poor talents for acting, and someone should tell them that wielding heavy weaponry doesn't add any credibility.

Argis barely has time to comprehend the situation before Aeryn starts mocking them, either unaware or ignorant about the fact that they are armed with battle-axes, and when Argis tries to intervene with logics such as "don't insult a murderer's mother, ever, but especially _not_ when that said murderer aims a blade your way", Aeryn barely bats an eye his in his direction. It ends with them being charged, to no one's surprise, but what _does_ come as a surprise is the speed at which Aeryn unhinges, loads, and loosens his bow.

The subject of Archery has come up once or twice as Argis made casual conversations in the house and the most information he got out of the elf was "I've been at it for a few years," which, judging by the fact that Argis hasn't gotten off his horse before the second toll collecting fraud collapsed on the ground with an arrow poking out between his eyes, was an understatement. When his feet meets the ground, the third one goes down, and the threat is gone. Argis blinks at the scene, then turns to Aeryn, who sighs and rolls his shoulder before sliding his bow back into the ornate holster on his back, then takes a swig from his flask. "Gods, bandits are so boring."

"Boring?" Argis turns his head again. All three men went down in seconds, their thick leather helmets being of no protection. Aeryn slides off his horse and gives it a few pats before walking over to the corpses. "Boring compared to _what?_

"Compared to Dragons."

Oh. Right. Dragons. "Is there anything matching a Dragon?"

"Nope," Aeryn replies with a _pop_. He squats down by one of the men and undoes the coin purse from his waist. "They won't go down on the first or tenth arrow, and they force you to put some effort into not dying. There are the teeth - " He moves on to the second man. " - the tail, wings, whatever element they throw up." He pats the body down and finds another purse and an amulet. "It's a lot of fun!"

Argis winces; it's not something he'd consider as "fun", but each to their own. "Speaking of Dragons, is it true that you, as the Dragonborn, can, um... Absorb their souls?"

"Yep."

"How does that work, exactly?"

Aeryn shrugs and gets up after searching the third bandit. "I don't know the details, it sort of just... Happens? Feels weird, though, and tingly." He grins. "When we come across one, you'll get to see for yourself."

-

Thankfully, they don't run into any Dragons, though there isn't a matter of "if" rather than "when" he'll stand face to face against one of the ancient monsters. It's what Aeryn does; tracking down and killing Dragons, as well as finding a way to stop Alduin from destroying their world. However, they do run into the second group of bandits, and because of Aeryn, this encounter turns into an un-called for bloodbath.

Since they left, Aeryn's mood has changed. He often frowns, fiddles with the reins or his hands or the buckles on his dark leather armor, and replies with huffs and grunts. In the evenings, when they've set up camp, he's jumpy and manages to find a hundred things that need doing, like re-organizing his backpack? Who does that? And when Argis brings the subject up, he gets the same type of poor excuses as always; something about being tired, being eager to see Solitude, and the "that's just how we are" in regards to never sitting still. While yes, it's a common trait among Bosmers to be energetic, but that shouldn't include busying yourself to exhaustion.

On the morning of the fourth day, Aeryn is visibly annoyed by _something_ that he's got no interest in telling Argis about, and whatever's weighing him down might be what ignites the explosion of fury that sends him launching head-on at an Orc that stands ready to chop him up to tiny bits with dual hand-axes. Chaos ensues.

It's a group of five bandits, the usual crowd of cutthroats looking to fill their need for adrenaline and perhaps fulfill a quota of blood money, and they would've been easy targets if Aeryn stayed on his horse and did what he was supposed to do; be an archer. But no, the elf pulls a pair of daggers from _somewhere_ and engages in melee with men and women far better equipped and better trained in hand weapons.

While having prayed for a proper fight for some time now, this isn't what Argis had in mind; not only is he fighting for his own protection but for Aeryn's as well, and the elf doesn't make his job any easier. He's dashing in and out of range to be severed by the neck while slashing at knees and stabbing armpits whenever he gets the chance, and Argis' heart stops when the elf takes a blade to the shoulder, then again when he gets bashed to the ground, occupied with keeping himself alive against two attackers at once.

When they prevail, Argis' pulse is hammering in his ears, his breaths coming in hard bursts. Fighting a person is a whole other thing from a wooden dummy, and he doesn't remember being this out of shape. His shield-arm throbs all the way up his shoulder, and his sword-arm isn't feeling much better, a tell that he'll be sore for a few days. The cuts on his thigh and arms and his split lip have already healed with the help of a potion, and what's left is the muscle ache, the lung cramps, and smoldering anger. Why in the name of Oblivion would the elf be so reckless? He's not a fighter by any means, so how did he think that going at cutthroats with blades would end up well?

Aeryn is standing on the other side of the road by the bloody mess, over-looking the corpses when Argis has collected himself enough to stride over to question what in Ysmir's name got into him to make such a rash decision. He halts half-way as a wave of concern quenches the embers in his veins. Aeryn is staring at the bodies, face blanched and eyes wide, blinking rapidly while hugging his arms to his chest, melted slush dripping down his hair and face. Gods, is he injured?

"Aeryn?" He takes a few steps closer when the elf doesn't react. A cold chill spirals up his spine. "Aeryn, are you alright?"

Once he's within arms-reach, Aeryn's head snaps to the side, and his glassy eyes shift from lifeless to pained to normal, all within a few seconds. He then smiles and raises his eyebrows. "Yes? It's all fine, just needed a moment to catch my breath." He wipes blood spatter from his forehead with the back of his hand, then combs out dirty water from his hair and groans. "By the Green, this weather is disgusting." He turns on his heels. "Anyway, let's get out of here."

The elf takes a step towards their horses and comes to a sudden halt when Argis holds his arm out in front of him. "Aeryn." He sighs, again tired about this constant denial and pretending. "Please, don't mistake me for an idiot. What's wrong?"

"It's nothing," Aeryn insists, jaw tensing. "I'm wet and tired, that's all, and the sooner we get to Solitude, the better."

"Do you worry that I'll think less of you if you show emotions, or is it something else that causes you to keep lying to my face? You've been in a bad mood almost the entire trip."

And here he is, again, prying about things that don't concern him, but he's not going to let it pass. Something is seriously wrong, so wrong that it causes Aeryn to recklessly throw both of them into danger. Has he always been like this? Maybe this is another reason that he wants to travel alone. Is it because of the alcohol?

Aeryn inhales sharply and angles his head to stare daggers into Argis' eye. "I don't give a **fuck** about your opinions on me, _Housecarl_ ," he hisses, then slaps Argis' arm out of the way and proceeds toward his horse. "Keep your mind to yourself."

It takes a second for Argis to comprehend the rude outburst. Gods, what's going on with him today? He's been cranky before but never this upset. "If you didn't care," he says as he turns to follow, going against his better senses urging him to step back. "then why do you keep lying? Aeryn, please, you don't have to - " He coughs on the words when Aeryn swings around and punches him in the stomach. He gasps for a breath as he takes a step back and presses his hand against the spot, which is enough to recover. Aeryn isn't weak in any matter, apparently, but he's not strong enough to do any considerable damage.

"Would you stop it with the **fucking** questions?!" Aeryn shouts and slams his fist down against Argis' chest. The Nord stands firm, as fighting back might feed his anger, and the blow doesn't hurt. "Why are you so damn fixated on prying on shit that doesn't concern you? I told you; it's _nothing_!"

"Because it _is_ something, Aeryn, and whatever it is, it's making you careless." Argis tilts his head to the side with a hesitant smile. "You're putting both of us at risk of getting injured, and I can't protect you when you decide to throw yourself at someone's blade."

"You're the one who pestered me to let you join! If you don't like the way I handle things, be my guest and fuck off." He takes a step back and points a finger at the road leading south behind him. "The way to Markarth is right there!"

Argis sighs and rubs the back of his neck. Shit, this isn't going as planned. "What I don't like is that you keep denying that somethings wrong. Something is clearly affecting you, and it's making you sloppy. Why won't you just tell me?"

"Even if there was something to talk about, which there **isn't** , why would I talk about it with you?"

"Because I'm here to _support_ you, Aeryn." He curls his mouth into a lopsided smile. "Not only as your sword and shield but as your companion. I may not be able to free you of whatever pains you, but I'll do what I can to ease it."

Aeryn stares at him, and the green of his eyes darken, gaze flicking across the Argis' face before averting it. "Argis, just _stop_ ," he says and runs a hand through his hair. "There's nothing you can do, and I don't want your support. Don't bother yourself."

"If I don't, then who's going to?" He steps closer. "Besides, it's hardly a bother to care for someone, I - "

"Stop," Aeryn commands between his gritted teeth. "Not another _fucking_ word."

If he'd be as professional as he claims to, the conversation would've ended there, but the curiosity is killing him. "Why?"

"Because you don't know shit about me, and you're never going to. So how about you do yourself a favor and quit this idiotic act of meddling with my head like a fucking brain scrambler, hm?" He draws a hard breath. "I don't need _anyone_."

"Not even a friend?" Argis shoots back and shows his palms. Everyone needs a friend. Argis values his close ones immensely; they offer support, lends a shoulder or a strong arm, listens, and shares, so, obviously, the elf needs friends too.

Flames flickers in Aeryn's eyes, and he moves close enough to jab a finger at Argis chest, craning his neck to glare at him. "I don't need friends," he hisses. "Friends are nothing but liars who sucks your dick until the second you stop being useful, then throws you to the lions. The last thing I need in his Gods-forsaken land is fucking _friends_."

_Oh._ Well, this topic seems to have some dark memories attached. So, does that mean that Aeryn's been betrayed at some point in his life? Maybe several, even, since the subject of friendship alone is enough to upset him. The shimmer in the elf's eyes tells more of sorrow than anger, and he probably wouldn't have reacted this way if there weren't any truth in it. "I'm sorry that you were thrown to the lions," he says sincerely. "I understand if you don't believe my words, but, even without the oath, I'll never stab you in the back. I take my honor seriously."

"Yeah, right, I'm _sure_ you won't," the elf sneers. "Like empty words would be enough for me to suddenly trust you."

"They are **not** empty words, Aeryn. And do you even have a reason not to trust me?"

Aeryn's nose wrinkles as he glares, and he opens his mouth only to close it again. Then, with a huff, he spins on his heels and storms off in the direction of their horses.

Well, this turned into a complicated situation all of a sudden. Argis doesn't feel even adequately equipped to handle whatever sort of trauma Aeryn has gone through that caused this thing to spark to life; he's muscle for hire, not a healer of any sorts, but he shouldn't have to be educated in the science of the mind to be of support.

Of course, he can't expect Aeryn to open up about his emotions when the guy doesn't even want to share his last name, but that doesn't mean that Argis doesn't have a chance of peeling that protective shield open by earning the elf's trust. They will travel together, so why not try and show that he isn't all empty words? What's the worse thing that could happen? 

Besides, he isn't going to stand around watching the Dragonborn succumb to bitterness or whatever darkness fills his chest. The world is full of anger and sorrow due to the Civil War and adding an additional evil that threatens to end every living being? No, there's enough of that. 

He follows the elf over to the spot where their horses are grazing further down on the side of the road, determined that he'll gain his trust. Argis has experienced his share of trauma in the war and on the road and, with help, managed to work through enough to wake up feeling content in the mornings. Aeryn, on the other hand, obviously hasn't dealt with whatever troubles him, and though it's impossible to compare, it seems that he's gone through something far more horrible than a few years at war.

_What happened to you?_


	3. Drinks and clues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argis lays off the questions as they arrive in Solitude, only to find himself abandoned in the morning. In an attempt to make time pass faster, he stumbles upon a clue to Aeryn's past.

The remainder of the journey to Solitude proceeds in silence, and they only stop for Aeryn to wash the sludge from his hair in a small stream running alongside the road. They don't encounter any more threats, and their goal is only a few hours away, so they don't _have_ to talk. Though, judging by the way Aeryn is treating him like air, they won't, no matter what happens.

Argis' mind fills with speculations about what caused Aeryn to explode when he inquired about his lies and lack of trust. Despite his somewhat limited social skills, he realizes that it would be a bad idea to ask about the subject at this moment.

So, he's left to his own thoughts during the last hours until they reach the massive gates of Solitude. A hundred and one different explanations cross his mind about what caused Aeryn to behave erratically; was he experiencing some sort of withdrawal that Argis doesn't know about? Lack of sleep, a bad day?

No matter what it was, Argis has to figure this out. He can't have Aeryn foolishly throwing himself into melee; he's not armed for it. Also, if this continues, Argis will need to pour so much time into watching Aeryn when he needs to focus on staying alive, so whatever is causing all of this, he has to sort it out. It's not his place, _he knows_ , but he doesn't dare to think what will happen along the way unless this - whatever this is - gets fixed.

When they approach Solitude, Aeryn's mood lightens, and he marvels at the enormous walls surrounding the capital with large eyes. Coming from a province such as Valenwood, all lush forests, and sky-high cities, Solitude's impressive aesthetics must be something else.

It's been about three years since Argis visited the capital, escorting a group of nobles to the Blue Palace to partake in the High-King's birthday celebrations, and he hasn't missed the city much. It's too big, too busy for his taste, not to say that Markarth was a sleepy city in any way, but the bustling streets and sleazy visitors overshadows the excitement of visiting the colorful market, famous for its size and variety.

As they enter, after settling their horses in the stables, there is a commotion just inside the gates, one that Aeryn barely bats an eye at, striding past the hollering crowd. Argis lingers just a moment to recognize that someone is being beheaded for treason before he hurries after his Thane, who makes a beeline towards the inn.

*

The Winking Skeever is more homely than the name suggests; it's a building as old as the city itself, its stone structure standing strong on oaken beams and creaky old floorboards. It serves as the main center for drinking and dining, and, despite dusk being a couple of hours away, it's already crowded with patrons from near and far. Like a pair of cloaked men huddling in a corner, pouring over documents scattered across the table; a group of people in lavish coats arguing with wild gestures; women in colorful dresses tittering and whispering by a table near the hearth; mercenaries from all races sharing stories, crowding a long table while waiting to be picked by a traveler to keep them safe on the road.

The buzz flows with each event, dying down when a tankard crashes against the wall, followed by a servant berating the patron, then rises with roars of laugher and shouts of joy when someone wins a round of dice. Steady through the ups and downs is the up-beat drumming and lute-plucking played by the bards, who sings a duet about a young man lost as sea who dreams of returning to his honeybee.

Argis takes four steps inside the inn before a red-haired woman dances up to him in a flurry of blue skirts and floral perfume, accompanied by whistling and hollering, and blocks his way. The deep cleavage in her bodice and sparkling brown eyes are enough to tell what she's offering. Argis lets out a weary sigh. "I'm not - "

"My, my, if today isn't my lucky day!" she singsongs in a velvety voice and wets her painted lips before reaching a hand out towards him. "If I'd known such a handsome man was about to join me, I would've - "

"No thanks." Argis grabs her slim wrist before her hand lands on his chest and kindly, firmly, pushes it away. He glances over her head, spotting Aeryn by the bar with a bottle before him. Could that be why he's been so antsy; he's thirsty? "Not interested."

The woman blinks, plump lips parting with an inhale, then she pouts and tilts her head to one side. "Aw, come now, don't be like that!" She pulls her thick curls over one shoulder, putting her pale, slim neck on display. "I'm sure I can undo some of the tension in those massive, strong shoulders of yours." Her eyes wander down and up his features, a sly smirk tugging at her mouth. "And _elsewhere_."

Argis rolls his eye and reaches across her, gently pushing her aside. "I'm **not** interested. I'm working."

"Now, now, it can't be all work and no play, hm?"

Their onlookers boos when Argis steps away from the woman, who drags a hand along his beefy arm as if her touch would be enough to change his mind and let her work her magic with those soft, nimble hands. For a price.

*

"I don't play with wenches."

The woman probably has an opinion about that, but Argis is already at the bar by the time she is about to tell him, and frankly, he doesn't care. He's aware that his looks are equivalent to what many women seek, that his brawny features evoke an image of protection and a rough ride between the sheets. He's been encouraged by both friends and strangers to put his appearances to good use, and he used to, but there's no thrill left in seeking out fleeting company. Sure, it's a compliment to be lusted for, but for what? To try and satisfy someone else's hopes and expectations in return for a, possibly, satisfying moment for himself? He'll pass.

Argis drops his backpack by the bar and slides onto the empty stool next to Aeryn, who's working his way through a bottle, not a glass, a _bottle_ , of spiced wine, downing the liquor as if his throat is on fire. Great.

"Is Lorei giving you problems, patron?"

Argis turns to the barkeep, a weather-worn Imperial in his mid-forties with an amused smirk on his thin lips. "She's never been shy, that woman, though sometimes I think she scares men off with her assertiveness. Let me know if she bothers you. I'd hate it if she chases my customers away."

"No problems," Argis replies courteously. "Nothing I can't handle."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm sure you can!" The barkeep chuckles and turns to the mounted racks behind him. They cover the wall, overflowing with bottles of different sizes and colors. "Don't need to look at you twice to know you're more than capable." He reaches for a faded orange bottle on the far left and grabs the cloth from his waist to wipe it down before presenting it to Argis. "Also, you look like a man of good taste! How about a bottle of Juniper berry mead?"

"Oh. I've heard about this one." He accepts the bottle and studies the worn label, barely making out the painted juniper twig. "There aren't supposed to be many bottles left."

"True, true! These are a luxury nowadays, though I rarely get customers who are interested in trying it out. Mead is still a favorite to the Nords and Nords only, it seems, and I'm sad to say that you don't visit as often as before." The barkeep sighs and removes the wine bottle when Aeryn pushes it across the bar. "Suppose we got the war to thank for that. Now, now, enough of that, you're here to drink! Not talk about war! What do you say, friend? Want to give it a try?"

"Let me guess; this doesn't come cheap?" He glances at the Imperial, who tips his head from side to side while placing a new bottle before Aeryn, then scribbles something on a piece of paper that he hides behind the bar.

"Well, can't say it's free, it _is_ a rarity!"

"I see." Argis turns the bottle in his hand, silently counting what money he carries on him. He'd lie if he said it's not tempting, but he might need his coins for more important things. And a fancy drink isn't close to the top of the list. "Perhaps I'll save it for another time when I've got more to spend - "

"Put it on my tab."

Both Argis and the barkeep turns to Aeryn, who uncorks the new bottle and sips the drink with a content sigh. He smiles, a first since the chaotic battle earlier today, and nods in Argis' direction. "He's in my company. Just put whatever he wants on me. Also, a room. Please."

Argis opens his mouth, an objection ready on his tongue, but the barkeep uncorks the expensive bottle and skillfully pours it into a glass. "Capital! Please, enjoy your drink. Let me know if you like it!"

It's common practice to pay for your hireling in more ways than solid coins, like with foods and drinks, some accepting _other_ types of currency as well, especially if they accompany you for extended periods and through several cities. When your primary income is others needing your service, it's comfortable to have a secure spot by their side for a week or two, rarely more than a month, but it happens, who also pays for your hot meals and mead. Luxurious, even, and while never declining the generosity; this is different. He's not in dire need of someone else's money since the income he receives as a Housecarl is, while not more than as a hireling, steady, enough to pay for food and shelter and to put a little aside. Also, he's staring down a glass of high-quality, golden mead from a brewery that hasn't been in business since the place burnt down when...

A deep exhale pushes past Argis' lips. It could've been yesterday that the news came of the attack on Helgen. About the Dragon. He shakes the memory away and clears his throat.

"I - ... Thank you," he mumbles and turns his attention to the glass when Aeryn waves his gratitude away. Well, it's there, so he might as well enjoy it. He lifts the glass and inhales an ambrosial scent with piney tones and a hint of citrus. It's enough for warming memories of his childhood to come crashing; images of spending endless hours playing war with his brothers in the forest bordering Rorikstead, sticks for swords and stones for projectiles. He smiles and inhales again before taking a sip. The alcohol is potent enough to sting down his throat, but the musty sweetness creates a perfect balance, the honey adding just the right amount of richness.

"That good, huh?"

While reminiscing about his younger days, whatever sound he made didn't reach his ears, but Aeryn gives him an amused look that indicates he must've expressed the pleasure vocally.

"Yeah, _that_ good." He holds the glass out toward the elf. "Want to try?"

"Nah, I'm good. I don't think I'd appreciate it." Aeryn turns back to his wine and rolls the neck between two fingers, slowly twirling the bottle on the worn bar top. "Mead isn't my thing." His forehead creases a little. "Wouldn't take you for an epicure."

"Because I'm a Nord?"

"Yeah."

This doesn't come as a surprise as, generally, Nords are rarely mentioned as anything other than hard-headed, emotionless brutes with no sense for life's finer things, that they dedicate their lives to battle, and their diet is solely made up of watered-down alcohol and spit-roasted boar. Argis knows where the preconceived opinions come from; he's been exposed to them a few times, though the description only matches about a quarter of the Nords he knows; and even they have more complicated personalities than what's assumed.

"I try to enjoy the moment," Argis says. "Life in Skyrim can be short, so why not take the time to appreciate it while it lasts? Be it a tasty drink or a good sleep."

Aeryn replies with a thoughtful hum and turns the bottle upside-down to his lips, downing a few more gulps. He shrugs. "I guess."

"You don't agree?"

"It's not that I don't, I just..." He rubs the back of his neck before closing both hands around his bottle as if someone might steal it at any moment. "Never mind."

"Alright, then." Maybe it's hard to see sunshine in a world filled with expectations and demands?

He recalls what the elf said earlier, about not needing any friends. Everyone needs _someone_ , and there's no talking Argis out of that statement. With the years he spent alone on the road, traveling back and forth between holds while rarely making an acquaintance with whoever paid for his service, he knows very well what difference it makes to have a person in your life that'll stand by your side no matter what. Without his closest friends, there's a chance that he'd be in a place far worse than Aeryn is right now.

"I'm gonna mingle around a bit," Aeryn announces after finishing his bottle and swings around on the stool to facing the large room. "Pick up some news." He glances at Argis. "Take the night off."

"There's no such thing as a 'night off,' Aeryn. I'm sworn to protect you, and that responsibility doesn't come with breaks."

Aeryn rolls his eyes. "Ugh. Don't you want some free time?"

"There's no need." He shifts to face Aeryn, who's eyeing the patrons one by one. "I've done this for so long, I couldn't stop myself from keeping my eye out even if I tried."

"Fine, your loss!" Aeryn shrugs and then turns his head over his shoulder. "Hey, barkeep? Some brandy, please. Any kind will do."

The sweet tone in Aeryn's voice makes Argis raise his eyebrows. "Don't think I've heard anyone ask that kindly for a drink."

"Barkeeps and tavern owners are the only ones I need on my side," Aeryn says and flashes a grin. He gets up and turns to grab the drink, thanking for it as he does, and then leans in closer to Argis ear. "The rest can fuck off. Now, I've got some socializing to do."

That's the last time they talk that night as Aeryn gets busy wandering from table to table, chatting and tricking people into believing he's living his best life with that sugary smile. It's a sad view, but Argis can only watch one after another get fooled by that jaunty act as the elf gets invited to dice games and conversations with seemingly no issue becoming everyone's friend.

*

Argis enjoys the rest of his drink while keeping his eye out for Aeryn, then tasks himself with getting their things to their rooms and gives his face a quick wash before returning downstairs. He orders food and another drink and finds a table from where he can watch Aeryn, ready to dash his way in case anything happens, and it's a miracle that nothing does. Here and there, the elf says something that stirs up angry frowns and puffed up chests, and Argis groans, because why wouldn't he jab insults at strangers? Maybe it's for attention, or maybe he's plain stupid, but he does appear to take pleasure in riling people up.

When he's finished, Argis moves to a central spot in the crowded room, leaning his back against a pillar, hands resting on top of each other on the pommel of his sword. Aeryn is seated with a group of men in traveling cloaks, leaning in close to a Breton sitting to his right, head tilted to the side. He gently touches the back of the man's hand, fiddles with the amulet around his neck, shows a coy smile -

"Workin'?"

The deep voice comes from Argis' left, forcing him to turn his head all the way to the side to meet it's owners eyes. It's a woman, a Redguard, with thick black locs adorned with golden beads that shimmers in the light from the massive chandelier, tied up in a ponytail. She's got a white stripe painted from ear to ear, crossing over the bridge of her nose, a striking contrast to her chestnut-brown skin, and a long, pink scar across her mouth. Glancing at her features reveals dual scimitars and heavy leather armor. A warrior, presumably. Argis returns his gaze to watch over Aeryn, who's halfway up the Breton's lap, giggling behind his hand. Well, that's a mask he hasn't seen before. Or is it some personality shining through? Argis wouldn't bet on it. "Yeah."

The Redguard walks around him and places herself in the eyeshot of his good eye without blocking his view. Polite. "Which one's yours?"

He nods toward the table by the wall near the hearth. "The Bosmer. Redhead."

"Wow. Looks... _Lively._ "

Argis snorts. "You could say that. You?"

"Just got off, been babysitting that dreadful lot." She gestures towards a table with drunkards dressed in fine silks and thick coats, all hollering and laughing and slapping each other's backs. "Should've demanded an extra purse for not bleeding em dry myself." She shakes her head with a sigh, then turns it back to Argis. "What do you go by?"

"Bulwark." He raises an eyebrow when she chortles. "Is it funny?"

She grins. "Can't tell where you got that from."

He rolls his eye, an amused smirk tugging at his lips. "It's easier to remember when it makes sense. You?"

"Ashen-Eye."

Instinctively, Argis meets her gaze, frowning at her dark brown irises. She shrugs. "Easier to remember when you have to think about it."

Argis blinks, then chuckles and continues watching Aeryn, who's on the man's lap now. Alcohol and flirting. It's one way to keep your head busy. "Suppose that makes sense."

"Are you on tonight as well?" She inquires.

"Not officially."

"... But?"

" _But_." Argis inhales deliberately when Aeryn gets up and pulls the Breton along towards the stairs. "I need to watch over that one."

"Is he some title?"

'Some title' is a bit of an understatement, though Argis isn't comfortable outing the guy as the Dragonborn. It isn't up to him, and it might put the elf in danger, though Argis couldn't think of anyone in their right mind that wanted to harm their savior. Not all people make sense, though. "He's good coin."

"Gotcha. If you're up for talks, we got a free spot or two." She nods at the long table. "Cuz' I'm guessing your purse will be busy tonight."

Aeryn stumbles up to the second floor with the Breton close on his heels, grinning with the man's hands trailing his flanks. Hopefully, it's a bedmate and not an assassin. "Seems so." He sighs and turns to Ashen-Eye with a wry smile. "Thanks for the invite, but I'll have to pass. The journey here was... Long."

"Sure thing." She nods courteously. "Feel free to drop by if you stay around. First round's on me."

"I appreciate that," he says and pushes off the beam. "Enjoy your free time."

The Redguard returns to the table, and Argis nods to those by the table who greet him, then makes his way upstairs. There's a lot to be said about sellswords, but there isn't a safer, friendlier group of people to spend an evening with. Unless you're a noble, of course.

*

The following morning, Aeryn is gone.

He's nowhere inside or outside of the inn, and Argis about to rip his hair off when the barkeep tells him that the Bosmer left hours earlier, leaving no message. Great.

Argis leaves after a hasty breakfast and wanders Solitude, keeping his eye out for the elf amidst the crowds. He visits a few shops and sticks around the blacksmith, both to keep a lookout from the elevated spot and to get time going. Not that he's skilled in it, but it's a fascinating craft nonetheless.

Though, when the blacksmith excuses himself to continue his work, Argis is out of ideas. He spots the Fletcher across from the blacksmith's shop, the one Aeryn spoke of. While Archery isn't an art he's interested in learning, he needs to make time move, so he pushes the door open to a room with bows and quivers covering the walls like an intricate tapestry. No Aeryn inside, though.

"Welcome, friend, to the greatest Fletcher in all of Skyrim! If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to let me know!" the shopkeeper, a Bosmer, chirps from behind the counter.

"Thanks." He smiles politely before turning his attention to the closest wall. There are bows in all different shapes and sizes, some with elaborate patterns and adorned with complex grips. Others are modest, letting the material do all of the talking.

"Are you in search of something particular? There's a bow for everyone in here!"

"Thank you, but I'm just looking. I'm no archer myself."

"Aha, I see! Well, there's no reason not to appreciate the beautiful craftsmanship, true?"

Argis nods and lets his eye wander further along the wall. Here and there are mounted quivers, them too skillfully crafted to match the arrows they carry. He recognizes the An-Xileel ones that Aeryn uses by the matte black leather. Moving to the opposite wall, one bow stands out from the others, immediately capturing his interest.

It's a tall, ivory white weapon, engraved with a swirling pattern in gold. The handle is encased by golden wires that have been twisted into an intricate, protective cup.

"What kind of bow is this?" he asks, and the shop keeper materializes next to him within a few seconds. His facial features are sharp and set with deep creases on his forehead, like most Bosmers, and it tickles Argis' curiosity further. He needs to figure out if it's a matter of age that's the reason why Aeryn's face differs so much.

"This one is a real beauty, isn't she?" The elf sighs and reaches out to gently stroke a finger along the recurve. "It's made out of a Timber mammoth tusk, crafted in Valenwood. Horn and bone are our specialties back home!"

Argis hums. "It's huge compared to the others."

"Ah, yes, it's a longbow! Used specifically for long-distance shooting, as the name suggests. I have others." He waves his hand in some direction. "But these are the biggest in their category. Back home, they are mainly used by Jaqspurs."

"Jaq - what?"

" _Jaqspurs_ , the pride and might of Bosmerian archers! Many of them are part of the elite guard; that's how talented they are. Most of us grow up learning to at least defend ourselves and hunt with a bow, but they are something else. I've seen a lot of great archers here in Skyrim, but none have been as graceful, or deadly, as our Jaqspurs."

"Huh." Argis cocks an eyebrow. Elite guard? "Could you tell me more about that?"

As it so happens, the Bosmer is happy to oblige. As there aren't any other customers in the shop, he pulls up a chair and tells Argis the tale about the famous Bosmerian archers.

He talks about how they train, what makes them different from other archers, and the famous 'snatching and releasing' technique. About their incredible accuracy and that, most importantly, the history of the elite guards protecting Silvenar. When he speaks of how the bow is crafted, he adds that "we don't talk about the Khajiit gut part, mind you," which is enough for Argis to figure out the rest.

It's way past noon when he leaves the store, dragging his sore ears along. The speed of which that man could form words was as impressive as he made the talented archers out to be. But, he isn't complaining. Quite the opposite. It was interesting to learn about Aeryn's people and culture, if only pieces of it, since Aeryn isn't keen on sharing anything himself.

Once Aeryn shows up, it's late evening at the inn, and Argis has been sitting up waiting for him by the bar. Like a _parent._ Shor's dusty old bones, maybe he's overdoing it a bit. Could be because he's the Dragonborn, and Argis couldn't live with himself if the guy died on his watch.

_"But, Argis the Bulwark, you watched over the Jarl! How come you couldn't protect the Dragonborn?"_

_"Well, you see, he up and ran away, and now, we're all doomed."_

That wouldn't look good on his record. Or maybe it's because Argis has made it his personal quest to help the elf out of the pit that is alcohol abuse. He's seen first hand what it can do to a person, and if Aeryn gets worse, there won't be a Dragonborn to battle the World-Eater.

Relief pours into Argis' chest when the elf appears in the door, then approaches the bar with light steps and a cheerful smile. Good to see him happy. "Busy day?"

"Ah, yeah, you know." Aeryn shrugs and drops his backpack onto the floor with a thud, then slides onto the stool. There's dried mud in his hair, and his face is dusted with dirt. "Solitude is bigger than I thought. And so many shops!" He orders a glass of brandy when the barkeep returns and exhales slowly, seemingly tired after whatever adventures he's been on. _Alone._

"You've been shopping?"

"Well, not so much shopping as looking, like, damn, the stores are huge! Almost got lost in the book shop. And everyone's got a problem that needs fixing, as always."

Judging by the dirty mess on his face, Argis doesn't believe that for a second, but he's in a pleasant mood, so he lets the subject drop. "So, we've got jobs to do?"

"A bunch! It'll be nice. I'm looking forward to getting something useful done."

"Mmh."

When Aeryn's drink comes up, he unhinges the large, ebony-colored bow from his back and leans it against the bar. Argis smirks as he eyes the intricate swirls of silver that adorn the entire piece from recurve to tip. The handle is skillfully crafted with thin, silver wires that curl up and forms decorative protection.

_Jaqspur, huh?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it isn't a Bosmer who runs the Fletcher, but hey, plot needs to happen!


	4. Good morning, sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aeryn isn't the only one who gets a rude awakening in the morning, though a different one from Argis, who gets a closer view on the Dragonborn's destructive habits. And how he hides them.
> 
> Also, he's bad at art.

The following day is their last in Solitude, and Argis is waiting for Aeryn in the hallway, leaning against the wall by his door. He didn't get any details about what jobs they're setting out for, but no matter what it is, he's eager to get out and give his sword-arm a good go. It's sore, still, a dull throb in his bicep, but it'll pass as they go.

There are still no sounds coming from Aeryn's room after waiting for twenty minutes, and Argis paces back and forth down the hallway, politely nodding at a bleary-eyed woman who exits a room and crawls along the wall to the washroom. Concern grows in his stomach. The elf should be up already, especially since he was up and about far earlier the day before. Argis lifts his hand, pauses, then taps his knuckles on Aeryn's door. Nothing. "Aeryn?" He knocks again. _Nothing._ Could he have left? He wouldn't have. Right?

Panic sparks in Argis' chest. Did something happen last night? They went to their rooms together. He feels the handle, stomach twisting to a knot. _Why isn't it locked?_ A thousand scenarios spring forth in his mind as he unsheathes his sword and slowly pushes the door open, meeting a quiet, pitch dark room. A whiff of stale air pierces his nose.

The light from the hallway illuminates the outlines of a large bed pushed against the far corner and a pile of covers on top of it. No movements, no sounds. Argis swallows.

"Aeryn?"

_"Fuck off."_

_Charming._

The relief makes Argis' knees weak and he slides his sword back into the sheat, exhaling the tension in his shoulders. "Are you okay? You didn't answer when I knocked."

 _"I'm sleeping,"_ the muffled voice rasps from the direction of the be and the pile shifts.

Argis drags a hand across his face, stopping to scratch his trimmed stubble. "I apologize for waking you up. You did mention that we should move on as early as possible, so, since you're awake now - "

_"Who put you in charge?"_

"What? I'm not, I'm just - Gods." Argis sighs and closes the door behind him, taking a moment to adjust to the darkness. "It's a suggestion. And, to be honest, I wouldn't want to stand around all day, and we better move while it's still light outside."

_"Fuck, when did you become such a dick?"_

"About the same time that you became a petulant kid," he mutters and orientates across the room to the window. "I'm going to let some light in."

The blankets groan. _"Leave me alone, or I'll punch another hole for you to breath through... Or stab. I mean **stab**."_

Wow, mornings really aren't his thing. It's not a complete surprise; the elf was slow to come alive on the road as well, but he was never this grumpy. "Well, if it gets you out of bed," he says and pulls the curtains aside, allowing the golden light to enter, then turns to the room. "How come you're still in bed? We weren't up that..."

A stone-cold fist punches Argis in the gut when he counts three uncorked bottles of wine on the nightstand. "... Late."

Oh. Oh, _no._

The pile shifts and Aeryn's sprawling mane emerges at the foot end of the bed, followed by a pair of squinting eyes. "What have I ever done to you?" he grouches, yawning audibly before curling up in the blankets like a fox kit. "I'm supposed to be the boss."

"Did you drink all of those bottles yesterday?" Argis demands, ignoring the whining, and wets his lips. Nausea grows in his throat. "Did you?"

It takes a few seconds before Aeryn exhales and turns over to his stomach, groaning as he pushes his upper body up on his elbows. "Dammit, _Amil_ , you're too loud." He rubs his face and yawns again, then cranes his neck to meet Argis' stern gaze, blinking to adjust to the light. His eyes are rimmed with dark shadows, his skin ashen, even in the warm glow. "So what? Not like it's your problem."

Argis combs a hand through his hair and exhales slowly, eyebrows shooting up. This is _bad._ "It is a problem, nonetheless." The elf mutters something and struggles up to sit, pulling one of the covers over his shoulders. "And why wasn't your door locked? Anyone could've come in!"

"My door..?" He looks across the room, eyes bloodshot and hazy, frowning for seconds as if his brain is struggling to get up and running. "Oh. Yeah, uh, what's-his-face left at... Some point."

"What's-his..? ... Ah." So, he went back down after Argis had gone to sleep to find someone to share his bed with. Possibly for the bottles as well. Sighing, Argis folds his arms over his chest and frees one hand to pinch the bridge of his crooked nose. What a disaster. Is this the usual amount of alcohol he drinks? Gods, he hopes not. "Right. Well, since I'm here, do you need anything?"

Aeryn runs his tongue along his upper teeth, face twisting into a grimace, then looks over at the basin. It's bordered with bottles and jars in different sizes with different colored content. "No, I - " he pauses to yawn. " - I got what I need." He inhales, holds the breath, then pushes himself to stand with a deep groan, hugs the cover for a moment before discarding it on the bed. He's in under armor; a thick, off-white shirt with wine stains and a pair of light brown breeches with drawstrings swinging undone around his calves as he drags his feet across the room.

Argis moves to lean his back against the wall while Aeryn splashes water on his face, then reaches for a jar filled with pinkish flakes and taps some of it out into his palm. Combined with water, he rubs it into a creamy foam and massages it into his face, then rinses it off and blindly reaches for a small, blue bottle containing a sort of oil that he smears onto his clean face. Then, another bottle, a transparent substance that he squeezes a drop from in each eye with a pipette, blinking to distribute it.

Whatever Aeryn is using, it's nothing Argis has seen before. Even from this distance, there's already a clear difference on the elf's face in the mirror; his eyes slowly shift from swollen and red to their natural color. Argis frowns and keeps his eye on the mirror while Aeryn works a cream onto the dark shadows underneath his eyes, then pours a few drops of yellow oil into a glass of water, tipping it into his mouth. After a quick shake, he spits it out and coughs, screwing his eyes shut and clasping the basin, shivers rippling through his body.

When Aeryn turns, his face isn't half as blanched as when he woke up and overall appears more awake. He shuffles past him, followed by a scent of mint, and starts digging through his backpack until he pulls out a small bag. It clinks when he rummages through it until he pulls out a small bottle with a poisonous green content. Argis wrinkles his nose. "What is that?"

"A concoction I made for hangovers," Aeryn replies and uncorks the small vial. "A bunch of herbs, fennel, rosemary, thyme and.. _Stuff_ , whatever." He turns it upside-down to his lips and shudders, face contorting as he swallows the thick liquid. "Works a charm, but, ugh, it's fucking disgusting."

So, this is why Argis never noticed the severity of Aeryn's drinking problems; he's been disguising, or remedying, the aftermath with ointments. The idea never crossed his mind when the elf woke up in the camp and took an eternity to finish whatever routines he had before joining Argis for breakfast; he simply assumed that he was fatigued from occasionally waking up during the night. Mara's mercy, what's gone so wrong that Aeryn needs to drown himself in wine? How long has this been going on? Was he even sober those nights out on the road when he was on watch? There are so many questions coming forth, and Argis narrows it down to one, for a start, "Why do you even drink this much?"

"Ugh, does it matter?"

" _Yes_ , Aeryn, it does matter. You're going to ruin yourself if you continue like this. How long has this been going on?"

Aeryn snorts and slowly lowers himself to the chair by the desk, grimacing until he can relax against the backrest, and rests his head in his hand. "Look, I'm not interested in your opinion," he rasps. "So just stop. It's _fine._ "

"You expect me to stand by and watch you kill yourself?"

"I'm _not_ killing myself," Aeryn insists, looking up enough to glare in Argis' direction. "It's just a few drinks, nothing to get all crazy about."

Argis inhales deliberately to keep the flames from erupting up his chest, jaw clenching. He's actually trying to minimize this? "A few drinks? Are you serious?" he throws a hand out at the bottles. "Aeryn, you drank _three_ bottles of wine! That's not a 'few drinks'!"

"By the Green, could you shut the **fuck** up?" Aeryn snarls as his eyes narrow further, the shadows underneath them completely faded by now, and his lip curls up. "I don't care about your damn opinion! I didn't agree to you coming along just to bitch about my health! You wanted to come along and fight; I'm bringing you along to fight!" Darkness overtakes Aeryn's eyes, and he continues between gritted teeth. "So either you shut up and fight, or fuck off back to Markarth!"

Blood rushes in Argis' ears as their eyes lock, and his hands curl into fists. Here they are again, with Aeryn telling him to leave if it doesn't suit him. It's so easy to push people away rather than having to deal with their critique or well-intentioned opinions. Argis has been through this with people who left the war and tried to suppress the haunting guilt and nightmares with various, poisonous means.

He takes a deep, slow breath and sucks his lower lip between his teeth, gains control over his internal storm, and exhales just as slowly. "I'll be right back."

As he steps outside and closes the door, he falls against it and covers his face in his palm. Dammit, this is bad. Not only is it bad for Aeryn; his bitter, selfish behavior shoves old memories down Argis throat that he's been trying to bury for years. He sighs, drags his hand down his mouth, then drops it to his side. There's no time to deal with this, not now, not when he's stumbled upon what Aeryn's addiction looks like. His own emotions can wait.

He remains on the spot for a moment, breathes through the tightness in his chest, then heads downstairs. When he returns, it's with food.

When Argis enters Aeryn's room, the elf is seated on the floor, sorting pouches and items wrapped in cloths, placing them in his backpack. He lifts his eyes when Argis approaches, glares, and there's no evidence left of last night on his face, the shadows are gone, and his skin it's normal tone. He opens his mouth, but no words follow; instead, his eyes widen as he discovers the tray Argis is carrying.

"Brought some breakfast," Argis says with a slight smile and squats down, placing two identical plates of food and two bottles wrapped in cloths on the floor, then sits down opposite the elf, resting his back against the bedframe. The breakfast contains a number of picks; apple slices dipped in cinnamon, an Eidar cheese wedge, a steaming potato bun with salted butter on the side, a chunk of spiced goat roast, and grilled leeks.

Aeryn's slack jaw snaps shut. "You... Brought me food." He frowns at the plate in front of him, then glances up at Argis, who nods. "Why?"

"We got to eat before we leave, right? I'm no good standing around, so I figured I'd make myself useful." Argis shrugs one shoulder and tears off a piece of bread to dip in the butter. "Didn't see you eat anything last night either so, figured you'd be hungry."

The elf sucks in a breath like he's about to say something, but remains quiet. He then puts the rest of his things into his backpack, pushes it aside, and turns his focus to the plate. His hand hovers hesitantly above the slice of bread for a few seconds before he picks it up and breaks it into smaller chunks.

They eat in silence, with Argis keeping his eye on Aeryn most of the time, reading the various expressions coming forth when he eats different picks. The leeks he doesn't even try, nose wrinkling when he pushes them to the edge of the plate, then he dissects the meat into fine strips and breaks the cheese into mouth-sized pieces, sorts each individual component to separate piles before starting to eat. Argis lifts an eyebrow but doesn't comment on it. The meat and cheese go down with mild interest, but the apple slices and bread brings forth the slightest smile on his lips. Argis stores the information in the back of his head.

There's a disappointed huff when Aeryn uncorks and smells the bottle that's filled with water, though he empties it anyway, either because he wants to be nice, or because Argis is watching.

"I'm sorry I got upset," Argis says once their plates are empty and smiles wryly. The elf is focused on polishing his fingertips with the napkin. "I didn't mean to wake you up or get loud. I suppose I ruined your morning. I just..." He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. Why are these things so hard? He knows what he wants to say, but the right words never come forth to comprehensively explain what he thinks or feels. "... got worried."

Aeryn picks at his nails, head still tilted down, so Argis can't read the look on his face. He purses his lips. Maybe sharing is pushing it too far? Still. "I knew someone who fell ill from drinking. Guess I just... Don't want to see that happen again."

There's a slight shift in Aeryn's shoulders, and Argis prays for something, anything that might give him a peek into what's happening in the elf's head, how he relates to this destructive habit of his. All he gets is a muttering "too bad."

"Yeah. Yeah, it was," he agrees, then gives up. This is obviously a subject Aeryn isn't keen on discussing, and Argis isn't enjoying the memories dropping stones of guilt into his stomach. He rolls his head, encouraging a series of cracks, then gets up. "Ready to head out?"

"Uh, yeah, I just need to get dressed."

"Where are we heading?"

Aeryn nods to the side. "Stuff's on the table."

On the desk, a few parchments are neatly stacked next to an unfolded map of Skyrim. It's a worn, tattered old thing with scribbles, ink blotches, and variously colored stains. Symbols are drawn across the southern half; towers, trees, squares with up and down V's - oh, no, those are houses. He turns his attention to the parchments and grabs the pile to go through them one at a time.

The first one reads "Bounty" with a request from Jarl Elisif the Fair to scout out Fort Snowhawk in response to rumors that it's inhabited by Necromancers. Argis glances over at the map. He finds the fort to the east, drawn as a crenelated tower with the name on top, then goes through the rest of the papers. Some bandit leader to kill, find a missing helmet, clear a cove of vampires, investigate a suspicious cave and -

"... Kill a dragon?"

"Hm? Ah, yeah, there's one, like, south-west of here, around Dragon bridge," Aeryn explains. Argis glances over his shoulder; he's gotten most of his armor on, busy fastening the many buckles and straps of the hardened leather jacket. "Figured I, uh, _we'll_ , deal with it on the way."

There's a lack of everything Argis feels about facing a dragon in Aeryn's tone. "You don't sound very worried?"

"Nah." Aeryn adjusts his collar, looking and sounding more energized now. "Like I said, there's nothing like killing a Dragon. If I'd get to choose, I'd take one over crawling around those dusty, mold-infested caves with Draugr."

"I see... Right." Argis' stomach drops. He's only seen one Dragon from afar since they returned, and, despite it being a speck of black on the sky, it turned his blood to ice. Seeing one up close and somehow killing? There's probably nothing that can prepare him properly for that day. "Any tips on how to take one down then?"

"Uh, well, I just shoot it?" Aeryn turns toward him and shrugs. "I guess you could go for the wings once it lands. _If_ it lands. Just watch out for, you know." he waves his hand around. "... Everything. Claws, teeth, tail, whatever spits." He gives Argis a quick look over. "... Perhaps we should get you something with elemental resistance."

"Err, yeah, that's not a bad idea," Argis agrees and searches for the point on the map. "Where is this place?"

Aeryn walks over and points to what looks like a crooked worm with butterfly wings. "Here."

A chortle bursts from Argis lips. "... _That's_ your Dragon?"

"It's the best I could do," he mutters and glares at Argis, who, despite all his might and restrain, can't stop his mouth from curling into a grin. "What? I'm no fucking Lythandas!"

By Ysmir, he is trying _so hard_ not to laugh, but, unlike Ysmir, he is no God, and he just needs to look at the 'Dragon' again to crack up into snickers.

"You - you fucking dick!" Aeryn sputters and grabs a pillow to throw at Argis' head. "Stop laughing; it's not funny!" The indignant tone in his voice is enough for Argis to break into laugher, jumping at the sudden attack, which only makes it worse, and he grabs the desk not to fold over on himself.

"I'm - I'm sorry!" he manages breathlessly as his stomach starts to cramp and throws an arm up to shield himself from the second incoming pillow. "It - it's a very nice Drag - _ouch!_ "

Next thing flying across the room is an empty bottle that hits him in the ribs, but it doesn't hurt nearly enough to stop the laugher. His throat is turning sore when he dares face Aeryn, who's fighting off a smile.

"You complete, fucking _asshole_!" He yells, face tensing up in attempted control. "I hope that Dragon burns your stupid face off!"

*

"If it looks, ah - anything like this," Argis pants and stabs the worm-fly with his finger. "I'm not worried!" As he starts to guffaw and folds over the desk, Aeryn cracks up.

Where Argis laugh is a deep, boisterous sound, Aeryn's is a shrill cackle that cuts through the air. The sound makes Argis look up from the desk, and the sight throws him off so abruptly his laugher calms, and a pleasant warmth floods his chest.

Had it been a laugh erupting amongst a crowd, Argis would've rubbed his ear from the high pitch, but it emerges from somewhere behind all that bitterness and anger, and it's a _marvelous_ sound.

Argis stares; he can't help himself. The gloomy aura is split open, and suddenly, there stands this vibrant person with a radiant grin that gleams brighter than a sea of stars. He's seen Aeryn smile before with the occasional amused bark or chuckle, but never anything like this. It's never been this radiant and free; he's never been gasping for air, or hiccuping with his arms around his waist, or wiping tears from his cheeks. Shore's bones, if it isn't a sight Argis could get used to.

"Fuck - I - ah - damn, I hate you!" the elf gasps between the laughs, one arm clutching his stomach and the other fumbling for the wall. He snivels, face wet with tears. "My head hurts again!"

"Sorry," Argis lies and laughs more at Aeryn's desperate attempt to wipe his face with his forearm, the leather not helping at all, then starts rubbing his hand over his flushed cheeks, his ears burning red. "A little."

"You - you asshole, get out!" He pushes off the wall and shoves Argis towards the door. "You're the one wh - who's in a fucking hurry!" It's not nearly enough force to motion Argis ahead, but he takes the hint and snickers while Aeryn keeps pushing at his back while he walks across the room. "If you want that damn armor, you better act like it!"

"Alright, alright, I'm going!" He stops when the elf turns back to the desk and starts collecting the papers, muttering and shaking his head with that sunny grin lingering on his lips. "I'll meet you downstairs, then?"

"Yeah, whatever." Aeryn huffs, though there's no bite to the words, and Argis shakes his head on the way out of the room.

So, he's not a _complete_ disaster, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rythe Lythandas is a painter famous across Cyrodiil.


	5. Coins, wares and happy endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they shop for supplies, Argis gets struck by how Aeryn manages to afford certain things and can't help but wonder _how._
> 
> Also, they find out about a horrible crime that Argis tries to convince himself Aeryn had nothing to do with.

"Leaving already? Ah, well, I do hope you enjoyed your stay!"

What began as a horrible morning turned into the start of a pleasant day, and there's a flutter of warmth remaining in Argis' chest when he stands aside to let Aeryn deal with the payments for their stay. Whereas yesterday the air was thick with gamy aroma, candle smoke, sweat, and mead, it's now light with a fresh scent of citrus and vinegar from early morning scrubbing mingling with the smell of freshly baked bread and tarts, the room lit by sunshine.

Groups of patrons are slowly gathering for breakfast, or lunch, yawning and speaking in low voices due to headaches or in respect for other's. 

"I absolutely did." Aeryn smiles politely and glances at the tab while digging for coins, and Argis makes the mistake of peeking at the piece of paper, his eye widening to the size of tankards; eighty coins for their rooms, a hundred and twenty for his Juniper mead _alone_ , the rest of the drinks and food coming up to four hundred and twenty-five, summing up to an outrageous total of six hundred and twenty-five coins.

Why, in the name of Oblivion, do they need to charge this much? It's the capital; there are always visitors coming and going; they'd easily make enough halving the price. Aeryn drops a couple of coin pouches on the bar, seemingly unaffected by the cost, which puts a frown on Argis' face. Sure, Dragon-killing doesn't come cheap, but could that and a bunch of odd-jobs be enough to make him this wealthy? The total pay of the bounties he picked up would be just enough to cover a cost like this.

"I believe that's enough. Thank you for your hospitality."

"I'm the one who should be thanking!" The barkeep grins and pulls the pouches behind the bar, quickly counting the coins. "Do come again!"

"Damn, I had forgotten how expensive everything is in the city," Argis grumbles once they step out onto the noisy street, exhaling a deep breath that fogs up in the crisp air. "The old inn back home wouldn't take even half of that price for more food and drinks. Bloodsuckers."

"Rich people gotta stay rich, you know." Aeryn shrugs and shows a crooked smile. "How else are they going to compensate for small dicks if they can't afford fancy clothing?"

Argis snorts. "Yeah, I bet. Do you even have anything left to stock up with?"

"Coins? Sure, enough to get everything we need from here. Nature provides the rest."

Nature provides...? Oh, right, Aeryn hunts. While Argis knows how to put up traps, he's likely not half as proficient at catching prey as the elf. "Alright. What first?"

"Uh, well, I guess it's easiest to start with the... Huh."

"With _what_?" 

Aeryn is looking in a direction across the plaza, eyebrows raised, and Argis can't tell what or who he spotted.

"How about you go ahead to the blacksmith and ask for some enchanted stuff?" he says without moving his gaze. "I've got a thing to do first. I'll meet you over there."

"Alright? If you insist."

"I do. It'll just be a minute."

Hesitant to leave Aeryn in such a busy crowd, he lets the elf slink away and does his best to follow the red mane as he moves towards the ramp leading to the upper area of the city, stopping when Aeryn does next to some Argonian, who looks the spitting image of a swindler. He can take care of himself, no need to hold his hand. Forcing his gaze away, Argis continues on to the shop.

The good thing about trying to find equipment in the capital is that there's likely no other place with so many pieces to choose from; there are weapons that paralyze, shock, and traps souls, gloves that help you pick locks or pockets, armors that increases your stamina. The bad thing about trying to find equipment in the capital is the price.

With the money he brought, there is no way that he's able to afford a full armor piece with any sort of enchantment, judging by the prices of the sets standing on display around the first room. He taps his foot, ignores the curious looks glancing up his features from both shoppers and security while trying to figure out where to start, then smiles politely when the blacksmith comes around.

"Well, ah, hm, I do have a few armors with the resistance you need, but." Beirand looks Argis up and down and offers a half-smile. "... I don't think I have anything in store that fits."

"... I see." Argis exhales quietly and puts his hands on his hips, scans the many racks and shelves filled with wares. While his size comes in handy more often than not, this is one of the situations being a head taller and a shoulder wider than most is pretty ineffective. "Do you have any suggestions?"

"Well." the smith swings around and too takes a look around his store. "Sure, I can make you something, but it's gonna take a few days at least, maybe even a week. I barely get the time to make anything except for Imperial armor these days." Beirand hums and crosses his arms. "If you're in a hurry, I got some shields left that suits what you need?"

Not that he's likely to afford an enchanted shield, but he's supposed to meet Aeryn here, so why not spend some of that time dreaming about high-quality armor he'll never own? So, he agrees, and Beirand shows him the way.

'Some shields' is an understatement; the room is enormous, walls crowded with protective pieces in all different styles, all tagged with prices and descriptions. He walks down the room and reads the various notes, lips flattening at the prices; the cheapest shield has a weak protection against lightning and goes for eight hundred coins. Finding a shield that not only fits but that provides protection from Dragon's fire below that price will be impossible.

Still, with nothing better to do, he keeps wandering until his eye falls on one particular, simple but elegant shield, crafted with the traditional Nordic design in mind. The tag reads _'Nordic Shield, steel, leather, quicksilver, adjustable straps. Medium resistance to Fire. Caution: Will not protect against lava. 1,800 Septims.'_ Leaning in and squinting, he makes out the faint orangey glow the enchantment emits. 

"Well, that's not going to happen," he mutters and folds his arms, drumming his fingers on his bicep while eyeing the piece. It's a good size, about the same as his current steel one, with a more intricate design and overall finer details. Maybe one day. As he studies it, something moves in the corner of his eye, and, looking down, his heart skips a beat as Aeryn has materialized next to him. "By the Eight, Aeryn!" he exclaims and puts his hand on his racing heart, barely noticing the shocked shoppers jumping at his surprise. "Don't just appear like that."

"What? I walked up on your good side!" Aeryn grins cheekily, amusement shining in his eyes, and Argis smiles at how much it resembles his little brother and his endless teasing. "You should pay more attention to your surroundings."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't expecting to be ambushed in a shop."

Aeryn flashes an innocent, toothy grin and then proceeds to inspect the shield Argis had been looking at. There's no way for the Nord to keep up with Aeryn's moods, it seems, but he's glad the elf is cheery at the moment. Smiling suits him much better than scowling. "Did you find anything?"

"Nothing affordable." Argis sighs and carefully touches rugged the rim of the shield. "This one's got fire resistance, but it's too damn expensive."

"Try it."

"What?"

"Go on, try it!" Aeryn insists. "I've heard that you need to try on shields like armor. See if it fits."

Argis jaw drops. "Did you see the price? I can't afford this, there's no point in - "

"Come on, just _try it_!"

Reluctantly, Argis takes the shield down from the wall and takes a second to feel the weight. It's lighter than his, surprisingly enough. Turning it over, he opens the straps and slides his arm into the enarmes.

"Well?"

"Well, it's very comfortable," Argis notes once the shield is secured onto his forearm. He takes a step back and moves his arm around. "Yeah. It's a good size as well. Still, it's far too exp - "

"I see you found something!" Beirand interrupts, smiling as he appears beside them. "It's a nice piece that one, quite proud of it if I get to say so myself. Good quality materials went into it."

"Yeah, it fits nicely," Argis agrees, then frowns. "Unfortunately, it's a bit too m - "

"We'll take it!" Aeryn interjects. Argis gawks at him. "I'll pay."

"Oh, good then, glad it suits your needs! Just come up at the counter when you're done."

The second Beirand is out of earshot, Argis head snaps down. "Aeryn! It's too expensive!" he hisses. "Besides, you shouldn't have to pay for my gear! And how could you even afford this?"

"Come on, Argis, we're going to fight _Dragons_ , remember? You won't be of any use if you get burnt to a fucking crisp first thing! And I sold some stuff before I got here, it's fine!"

Somehow, Argis doesn't believe it's 'fine.' Nothing's been 'fine' with Aeryn so far. He frowns. "You must've sold some damn good _stuff_ to suddenly afford this."

"Who says I couldn't afford it earlier?"

The thought of Aeryn somehow carrying enough coins to thoughtlessly throw them on an expensive piece of equipment for someone else makes Argis' head spin. He inhales slowly and runs a hand through his hair. "How in Oblivion do you earn this much gold?"

"Does it matter?" Aeryn shrugs and holds his palms up, showing a casual smile. "It's coin! Get that thing off your arm; we need to get going."

"But, Aeryn, I.. Ugh, Ysmir's beard. _Fine_ , but I'm paying you back for it."

"Whatever, let's go!"

It stings to watch Aeryn pour that much gold onto the counter when he pays for the shield. Selling Argis current one did reduce the cost a bit, but not nearly enough for him to feel less guilty as they leave, his new piece strapped to his arm. Well, he did wish for one, and Aeryn didn't accept a 'no' for an answer, so the best he can do is put it to good use, so that's what he intends when they move down to the busy marketplace. There's also the matter of Aeryn's finances and how in the world he can afford estates and expensive gear and rooms, but this isn't the place for such a conversation. For now, he closely follows Aeryn through the stream of people towards the grand plaza.

_"Sir! Have a look at my goods, good sir!"_

_"Linnen and silk, the finest quality in Tamriel, right here!"_

_"Fresh fish! Fresh off the Northen coast, still lively!"_

_"Oh, love, look at that necklace, isn't it exquisite?"_

_"CABBAGES, CARROTS 'N TURNIPS! Come get the mornin's harvest!"_

_"Twenty-five septims for a lantern? Bah, what a joke."_

_"Spare a coin for a beggar, dear ma'am?"_

_"Books, scripts, and scrolls, J'zaadha got what you need to quench your thirst for knowledge!_

The bustle and buzz in Solitude is far more hectic than in Markarth, which isn't surprising; it is the capital, after all. Argis keeps one hand by his coin pouch, the other resting on the pommel of his sword, and he stays close behind Aeryn, looming over him like the protective giant he is. 

_This_ is a place where his size comes in handy, allowing him to see over most heads of the crowd, protect Aeryn's back, and, well, _encourage_ people to step aside or risk getting stepped on. He wouldn't admit it, but it strokes his ego a bit when the crowd parts enough to let them slip through, pairs of big eyes watching him as they pass.

There's a childish glee on Aeryn's face as he browses the endless wares, carefully inspecting what every merchant has got for sale. He flips a coin to the grocer for a green, brown-spotted pear and munches on it while moving on to pieces of fabric and garments, then to a table with stacks of books taller than him. When they reach the jeweler, Aeryn stops.

"Welcome, sera!" the Dunmer calls, her rough accent breaking through the chatter. "Whether you are in need of a gift or a treat, I've got the jewelry you need, crafted from the purest golds and silvers in Skyrim!"

"Shiny trinkets," Argis mutters. He never understood the delight for jewelry and only wears a simple amulet himself that enhances his sword-skills. No need for glitter and gold to appear wealthier than he is. He glances at all the pieces on the table and is about to move on, but Aeryn is still looking. "Should we continue?"

"Give me a minute," Aeryn says, busy studying an array of earrings laid out on a piece of blue velvet. They come in all sizes and materials, some embedded with small stones, others wrapped with thin metallic strings, all far more intricate than the plain rings in Aeryn's ears that the elf runs a finger along, as if he's pondering about which one to exchange.

So, Argis waits and keeps his eye on their surroundings, makes sure no one tries to sneak a hand down Aeryn's pockets or jab a dagger in his back, while the merchant encourages him to purchase each one he's picking up and inspecting. After half a lifetime, he settles for a small, silver ring with a captive amethyst bead, paying a rage-enthusing sum of two hundred gold, and Argis can only hope that it's enchanted with something useful.

They move along across the market, stopping for a moment at a florist's table filled with cut flowers and bouquets that Aeryn gushes over, then make their way toward the end of the long row of stalls. When they come up to a clothes merchant, Argis is the one who stops.

"Hey, Aeryn," he calls when the elf moves ahead, who stops and turns. "Do you have any thicker clothes than that armor?"

"Uh, no? I've got this." He grabs the hem of his cloak, a thin leather one with a nonsensical pattern in faded yellow. "And a scarf. It's enough."

"We're going up the coast, right?" Argis puts his hand onto a thick, white, folded cloak on the table. God, that's soft. "It's cold up there."

Aeryn rolls his eyes. "I've done cold weather before. I'll be fine." His eyebrow snaps together when Argis sizes him up.

"Yeah, I'm sure, but the cost is _harsh_." He absently combs his fingers through the silky fur and ponders buying one for himself, if only to pet it. "The sea throws some icy punches inland. That thin thing isn't going to help. You _really_ should get a thicker one."

"I _really_ don't need one."

"You know you'll likely get sick, right?"

"Thanks, _Amil_ , but I'm the better judge of that," Aeryn sneers and turns on his heel. The cloth merchant, who happens to also be a Bosmer, snickers behind his hand until Argis shuts him up with a glare.

"How much for a cloak?" He demands, throwing the elf off a little, who quickly clears his throat and grins.

"That particular one is four hundred coins; it's Snowy Sabre Cat pelt," he informs, puffing his chest out. "Killed and skinned it myself, as with the rest! I do have a few other ones that might be of interest; there's a Cave Bear one here, very warm! Not _as_ warm as that one, but warm nonetheless! This one here is Ice Wolf, also suitable for the coast! Pretty as well, don't you think?"

If there's anything Argis doesn't care about, it's pretty things. "How much?"

"Two hundred for the wolf pelt, and two fifty for the bear one."

This shouldn't be his call, because he isn't Aeryn's guardian, but the weather around the coast is cold enough to chill his bones, and coming from him, that's when it's time to put another layer of clothes on. Though, who knows, maybe Aeryn is more tolerant of blizzards than he gives him credit to be? Because, well, he's tiny and dressed in leather and thin under armor, and his cloak would do better on the top of a flagpole than on his shoulders.

So, Argis purchases the wolf fur cloak, figuring he might keep it for himself if the elf hates it, and tucks it inside his backpack before hurrying to catch up with Aeryn, who's sauntering across the plaza, and joins him by the apothecary's shop. "Potions next?"

"Nah, well, I need ingredients, and I've got other business in here, so. Think that'll be it," Aeryn replies, either not caring about if Argis bought anything or he didn't notice. "Then we'll be off."

"Alright."

The air inside Angeline's Aromatics is so thick with smokey spices Argis can taste it on his tongue, and a lemony tang breaks through the mist and whacks him in the nose. Damn, working in this building must fry your nose hair off.

"Well, hello there," an elderly woman greets them from behind an over-sized counter, every inch of it filled with baskets and trays overflowing with cut herbs. There are jars and bottles, meaty pieces Argis won't dare to ask where they originate from, and mushrooms with dots and stripes in all kinds of colors. Not to speak of the bookshelves lining the walls, filled with more plants and bowls than actual books.

"Welcome to Angeline's, I'm Angela, please, let me know if - " She cuts herself off and squints at them for a second, head tilting to the side, then her eyebrows shot up with a soft smile. "Oh, it's you! You came back."

"Told you I'd drop by if I got hold of any news," Aeryn chirps in that well-mannered tone. "I think you'll like them!"

Angela blinks and covers her mouth with both hands, eyes tearing up before she hurries around the counter. "By the Nine, do you mean..? Oh! Oh, this is - Gods, Vivienne! Please, tend to the customers!"

With that, Aeryn is dragged into the nearby hallway where he and the woman discuss something that includes flowing gestures that Argis can't hear over the chattering and bubbling brews. Whatever it is, it seems joyous, as Angela throws her arms around Aeryn in a tight hug, who laughs and gently pats her shoulder. He then goes stiff when she cups his face in her wrinkled hands and plants a kiss on his forehead, then rubs the back of his neck with a puzzled smile as she wipes her cheeks.

"Seems she got good news, after all."

Argis turns, the voice coming from a young woman preparing a mixture by the counter. "Sorry?"

"She's been asking everyone who enters if they know anything about her daughter, the poor thing left to join the war some time ago now. Angela hasn't heard from her in a while, and that stupid bastard of a captain refuses to tell her anything." Vivienne snorts and keeps grinding whatever crunchy content is in the bowl. "Looks like the kid got something useful out of him, though."

Argis turns to the hallway, where Aeryn is staring down at the floorboards with crimson cheeks, then back to Vivienne, raising an eyebrow. "Kid?"

"I, uh, well, he's not that old, right?" She glances up from the bowl, curiously at first, then shows an apologetic smile. "That wasn't very nice, was it? Ah, I apologize, I - Hey, ma'am? Please, put that down. That's very volatile."

Aeryn returns moments later with pinkish cheeks and a confused smile, and yes, while Argis already noted it earlier, he does look like a juvenile. More today than more before with that shine in his eyes and cheerful aura, compared to the bitter expression he usually wore.

"You, uh, found something out about her daughter?" Argis asks, summarizing what Vivienne told him when Aeryn frowns.

"Well..." Aeryn blinks and looks over to the hallway he came from, where Angela is still wiping tears away with a grin on her face. "I asked that guy, uh, captain, about her. Apparently, her scouting party had been infiltrated by a Stormcloak soldier, and I guess the two fell in love or something?" He looks up at Argis. "So, when the guy was exposed and captured, she supposedly freed him, and they got away together. So, I guess they are hiding somewhere?"

"Really? Huh. Sounds like one of the romantic stories with happy endings," Argis says, arms folding across his chest. It's nice to hear some good news for once, more so in these times with the war on everyone's lips. He pops an eyebrow when Aeryn grins at him. "What?"

"Romantic stories, huh? " Aeryn teases. Argis groans and rolls his eye. "Wouldn't have guessed those were your thing." 

"What, I can't enjoy a good fiction because I cleave people in two for a living?" A few customers stir around him, and he catches a wide-eyed man staring at him. "Bandits," he clarifies, then turns to Aeryn again, who's holding his palms up.

"Hey, you do you, I guess."

"Anyways, if you're done, how come the captain wouldn't tell Angela about her daughter?"

"Damn if I know." Aeryn shrugs. "Pride? Shame?"

"And how did you get him to tell you?"

"I can be _very_ persuasive." Aeryn drawls, and Argis isn't sure he wants to know what sort of tactics the elf is talking about.

"I'm sure you can." He sighs and shakes his head at the triumphant smirk on Aeryn's lips, then pushes at his shoulder. "Go buy your things."

-

They leave Solitude about an hour later, mounting their horses at noon. Argis doesn't remark on the impressive leap Aeryn made to get onto his Palamino roan, as he hadn't paid attention earlier to how the elf got onto a horse with withers half a head taller than himself.

"He looks strong," Argis comments, pulling at the reins of his dapple gray mare. His massive steed used to pull heavy carts on his family farm before becoming his companion several years ago. "Where did you get him?"

"Stole him," Aeryn replies casually. Argis gawks. "What? You asked."

"I, yeah, but I wasn't expecting - ... Wait, you stole him? From where?"

A content, shit-eating grin grows on Aeryn's mouth as he motions his horse into a slow walk. "From the Black-Briars."

"You did not."

"Did too."

Argis releases a breathless laugh and runs a hand across his face. Great, not only is the elf destined to rescue the world - but he's also a horse thief. "Why?"

"Well, I -" he cuts himself off while they pass a group of people just outside the city walls, all looking down at the harbor.

"Did ya hear? Lighthouse got put out last night!"

"Really? How did that happen?"

"Ain't happening by itself, I tell ya! That flame's magic; it's gotta be put out by hand."

"Are you saying that someone walked up there and put out the fire on purpose?"

"Dunno, but how else? I spotted a bunch o' guards head up north earlier this morning."

"Mara's mercy, maybe some ship crashed then? I hope they're alright!"

Argis lips stretch out flat as he sighs. "Damn shame. Can't believe someone would do something like that. Guess some people just don't know the line between simple crimes and outright murder, sending ships to their doom like that." He turns to Aeryn, who's looking up along the road, fiddling with his fingers. "What do you reckon?"

"Hm? Oh, uh, yeah, I agree, complete idiots," he blurts, smiling awkwardly before he kicks his horse into a trot. Argis does the same, frowning as unease bubbles up in his stomach.

"You don't happen to know anything about the lighthouse, do you?"

"Nope."

There's nothing else that Argis wants than to take the elf's word for it, honestly, but the way he stubbornly stares ahead doesn't make it easy. He's got no idea what kind of business Aeryn usually is up to or has been up to before coming to Skyrim; he could be an assassin for all he knows, but sending ship-loads of people to their deaths like this? Argis isn't sure he'd be able to deal with that kind of involvement. He doesn't get the chance to inquire further as Aeryn picks up where he left off in the story of him stealing a priced, pure-breed horse from the most powerful family in the Rift.


	6. Told you so

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argis said it was going to get cold and, guess what, it does. But Aeryn isn't going to tell him that.

It's **cold.**

It's goddamn fucking **cold**. 

What's worse? It doesn't seem to affect Argis at all. Nor does it any of their horses. Sure, Frost's got the fitting name, but still, the damn pony isn't even mildly annoyed as he trudges across the freezing cold stream to pass onto another small speck of an island.

Why is that worse? Because it makes him the only one who's clattering teeth and shaking. And Aeryn can't have that. He can't be the only one negatively affected by something. Why? Well, obviously, because it makes him look weak.

And Aeryn _can't have that._

This is bullshit. How can it even be this cold? Cyrodiil wasn't this cold; not even the coastline around Anvil got this cold! Then again, that Coast is protected by the mountains of Hammerfell. And thinking about it, it hadn't really been that cold in Anvil... Bruma had been much worse. Still not as ridiculous as this, though.

Must be the fucking sea that causes the air to rip through his clothes and pierce his skin like icy needles. Exactly like Argis said. But Aeryn isn't going to mention that, hah, no. Like he's going to give the Nord the pleasure of being right? Besides, that would give Argis the impression that he isn't aware of what he's doing, which he _obviously_ is. Aeryn is an adult who is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. As seen by his excellent choice of completely ignoring the recommendations of someone native to the land he's still discovering. Adulting at it's finest. Shit, he can barely feel his face.

"Aeryn?"

Snapping out of his head, Aeryn glances around the hem of his hood. "What?" 

"How are you holding up?" Argis calls over the whistling wind that claws through Aeryn's armor like it's nothing but lacy undergarment. 

"Fine," he forces out between gritted teeth, muffled by the neck gaiter that's covering his mouth and nose. The soft fabric is simultaneously wet and frozen from the moist of his breaths. Ugh. "Everything's _fine_." 

"Alright, if you say so."

Like Aeryn can't tell when Argis doesn't believe him by now? Whenever he doesn't, he pronounces words slower, emphasizing letters like A's and T's. Stupid ass Nord and his stupid ass frost resistant genes. 

They haven't even gotten that far up the Coast yet; they can still make out the rooftops of Solitude up on the cliff off to the west through the snow. Aeryn's hands are already numbing, leather-clad fingers cramping around the reins. He tries to stretch them out to get some blood flowing, but it hurts. It's so cold it fucking _hurts_. Sure, Bruma's harsh temperature hurt as well, but not like _this._

"I did warn you about the weather," Argis says, probably looking in his direction, and Aeryn refuses to meet his gaze. No, he's stubbornly staring at the path ahead, or what he can see of it through the snow. "The Sea of Ghosts is not to be underestimated."

"Shut up," Aeryn mutters as he scrunches down, pulling his shoulders up closer to his ears. Don't even get him started on his poor, frostbitten ears; sharing the mentality with a magpie over shiny trinkets isn't the best trait when said trinkets got cold enough to burn your skin. 

"You're going to get sick, Aeryn."

"I'm not!" he spits and glares around his hood, huffing at the condescending tone in Argis voice. He's an **adult** , and he's more than capable of knowing how much cold weather he can handle. "It's a bit chilly, that's all." And as if the Gods took it as a dare, They decide to shift the wind's direction, blowing snow up his face. If he wasn't sick of the temperature before, he is now. And he's been in it for half a day only. Fuck this shit, fuck all of it. Why is he even doing this?

"Aeryn, please." Argis sighs. "You don't have to pretend; I can hear your teeth clatter. Actually, I did buy a - "

"Would you shut up? I lived in fucking Bruma, I **know** what cold feels like!" Aeryn blurts acidly, immediately regretting it as unease pools in his stomach. _Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask -_

"Really, you did? For how long?"

Damn this curious Nord and his inquiries to Oblivion. He has to be more careful. "... A while," Aeryn replies, having to suit himself for letting it slip through his cold lips. "About a year, I think."

"Is it as cold there as they say?" 

"Uh, yeah." He huffs. "Pass out drunk outside, and you're dead within the hour. Never get's warm, same cold shit year around."

"Why stay there then?" 

"I'm here now, aren't I? Not that _this_ is much of an improvement."

Aeryn knows it's a shitty answer, but he's not interested in sharing his past, especially to someone who'll either be dead within a week or bugger off before that. He'd been sure that Argis would fuck off after this morning, but nope, the dense Nord came back, though one occurrence isn't enough to give him any hopes that this one will be different.

"True." Argis hums. "Did you leave Bruma for Skyrim?" 

"I, uh.." Should he answer that? No, Argis has nothing to do with his past, or future for that part. He remains silent, ignoring the glances he gets, and tucks his hands into his armpits in a desperate attempt to regain some warmth. 

"We should find a place to put up camp soon," Argis says instead, and Aeryn exhales tension from his shoulders, happy to drop the subject.

While the sun won't set for another few hours, the temperature has already dropped dramatically since earlier. The golden rays aren't providing any warmth, and the wind keeps picking up. Also, Aeryn needs to get food. So, he agrees.

-

The land is as rugged and uneven as a frozen plane of Oblivion, but they manage to find a somewhat flat area with enough trees to shelter them from the worst of the wind. Not near perfect, but good enough to possibly get a fire going.

If it wasn't for Argis and his tolerance for cold, the tent would never have come up. Aeryn's hands are too cold to hammer down the pegs enough into the frozen earth, and finding materials to make up a campfire would've taken thrice the time. But Aeryn isn't going to let the Nord know that.

"Aren't you going to tie him up?" Argis wonders when Aeryn slides the saddle-bags off Frost's back and lets the horse wander off in some direction.

"Nah, never had to." He shrugs and bows to get inside the tent. "He usually sticks around. I think he's happy I stole him away." He pauses, then and looks up at Argis, who lingers outside. "I may also have threatened to eat him if he runs off." Ignoring the alarmed look on the Nord's face, he turns inside.

At the highest point, Aeryn can almost stand up straight, which is such a relief compared to his previous tent. That cramped, patched up thing had been destroyed on the way to Riften, where Aeryn accidentally camped too close to a Giant's encampment. How did he accidentally do that? Well, it had been dark, and he hadn't been very sober.

Let's simply say it was the last time he put up a tent without scouting the surroundings first, as it left him without shelter. And almost without his life.

Now, he's got enough room to scatter his things about and comfortably spread out, taking as much space as he needs to be comfortable. Even while sharing the area with a smaller Giant. 

"Come on, work, you stupid piece of shit," he mutters impatiently, slamming the flint down again and again against the steel with little to no result. Whenever a spark hits the tinder, the wind swoops in, as if purposely trying to mess with him. "Alright, fuck it then." 

The tools land somewhere inside the tent, and Aeryn leans forward on his hands and knees, close to the pile of torn book pages, and draws a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he shifts focus to his lungs, and a familiar warmth flickers inside his chest, up his throat. He slowly exhales a whisper, a single word, _Yol_. Hot air brush past his lips, and the taste of smoke fill his mouth.

Opening his eyes, the tinder is well lit, despite the wind's attempts to cease it. As useful as it is, it still leaves a horrible taste of charred flesh and ashes in his mouth. He coughs into his fist, his other hand pressed against his chest to help soothe the heartburn.

"Hey, are you alright?" Argis voice worries from somewhere behind him. Aeryn chugs water from his hip-flask and spits some of it out in an attempt to rinse his poor pallet.

"Yeah, fine," he croaks and adds deadwood to the small flame. "Finally got that stupid fire going." 

"... Okay? Well, nice work! The wind wasn't helping, I bet." 

"Hardly." He gets up and moves to sit in the tent entrance, close enough to the fire to get some heat while being sheltered from the wind. At times like these, he appreciates the effort he made to patch together a groundsheet. 

The bedroll, on the other hand, could use a good look over, but for now, it's suitable to open up and use as a blanket. He curls up into a ball, hugs his legs close to his chest while holding on to the thick fur, chin resting on his knees. As the flames grows and cast welcoming heat against his body, his lips curl up into a small, content smile. Ah, yes. This is much better. Nothing compared to the warm summer sun in Whiterun, but it's something.

For a moment, he closes his eyes and listens to the world. The wind whistles between the trees, rustling the branches of pine and birch on its way down across the ground, swooping snow back into the air. One of the horses snorts and stomps at the hard soil outside the tent. From the west, the burble of Karth River is barely audible where it slithers around the many small islands of the icy archipelago. Argis adds more fuel to the fire, the wood snapping as the heat cracks its protective bark. The smell isn't as pleasant as it would've been if the firewood was completely dry.

When he opens his eyes moments later, Argis is sitting by his side, keeping a respectable distance, watching him with a smug look on his face. Aeryn frowns. "What?" 

"Nothing. You look very content," the Nord replies and turns to the fire, leaning back with his arms behind him for support. Why that would be something worth mentioning, Aeryn doesn't care to figure out. "I bet the weather up North must be quite the change from Valenwood."

Calling it 'quite a change' must be the understatement of the year; there's nothing similar this far up north to Valenwoods lush jungles and annoyingly humid temperature. Aeryn had hated it before leaving, only to find that he's missing being able to walk around in short sleeves. When he doesn't comment, Argis, _surprisingly_ , picks a question; "Had you seen snow before you made the trip here?" 

Sweet Green, this man needs a hobby that isn't playing interrogator every fucking day. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm just curious. I've never crossed the borders or traveled across the sea, never seen another landscape than this one," Argis explains. "I can't imagine what it could be like to see it for the first time." 

"... Right." Aeryn pauses for a moment as he decides whether he wants to answer the question or not, uncurling a hand to scratch the side of his head. He needs to trim his hair again. "... No, I hadn't."

"What was it like?"

_Snow._

The first time Aeryn experienced snow had been long after leaving home, when he reached the northern parts of Cyrodiil. The temperature had dropped immensely around the Gold Coast, but nothing compared to the Heartlands. Had it been another time, another life, then maybe Aeryn had appreciated his first snow. Perhaps, it would have been magical even, to see small balls of white fluff tumble down a gray sky, feel them melt against his skin. He might've stuck his tongue out to try and taste one of them, or at least held his hands out to catch them.

Sadly, he doesn't have such pleasant memories of that day. Thinking back now, it was a blur of blood, panic, and shouting. Absentmindedly, he traces the long-since healed gash along the bridge of his nose. He then shakes his head as if it would make the memories fall out through his ears. "It got old pretty fast," he replies somberly. Argis stays quiet for a few seconds.

"I see."

Leaving it at that, they sit in silence for some time until Aeryn is warm enough to dare uncurl from his warm bedroll. "Right, I'll go fetch something to cook," he announces and stretches his legs out. Damn, he doesn't want to go back out in this weather, but he got no choice if he wants dinner. The dry meat he brought is enough to fill up some energy during travel, but not to fall asleep on. And he's not trusting Argis to be able to achieve anything in regards to acquiring dinner.

"What's the plan?" 

"Shoot something?" 

Argis chuckles. "I suppose. Need help with anything?"

It's still unusual to have another hand around to get things done. Since Sun's Height last year, he hasn't brought anyone along. "Uh, I don't know... Get water for the pots?" 

Argis agrees, and Aeryn takes a moment to pull the still moist, ugh, neck gaiter back up and re-wrap his scarf. He brings his bow and a handful of steel arrows; he'd only need to take down a few rabbits or a deer, no need for an arsenal of ammunition. Along, he brings a rope, some dry meat, and a fishing line. He isn't going to sit around for a fish, but something might bite while he hunts. Argis wishes him good luck as he leaves the camp. Aeryn ignores him.

-

The rocky land and river, despite the harsh cold, does provide a needed break in the atmosphere. Aeryn never really liked the busy cities, mainly because they were simply that; busy. Energetic, loud, stressful. Though, compared to the serenity of the forests, the bustling life blocks out his brain enough at times so that he doesn't have to think. Or remember.

Often when he's out like this, he recalls a time when he didn't have to drown his mind out with alcohol or distractions, either by hunting or scouting or with strangers. Back then, he'd gladly doze off on the forest floor while watching rays of sun play through thick canopies, no rush, no pain, no worries. Now, as he's squatting by the cold river with snow hitting him from the side, it feels like ages have passed since then.

"Wonder if Cathilil would be proud of me," Aeryn grumbles as he pierces the piece of meat on the hook with trembling fingers. He clearly remembering Falinestis' finest fisher. Especially how she despised him will all of her heart and used to smack him over the head with her rod. "Catching my own food and everything. Never thought that would happen, huh?"

The cold wind sneaks into his neck despite the layers, and he shivers audibly as he gets down to tie the line to a young pine tree. He tosses the hook into the water and hurries inland to the sparse forest to search for animals.

Usually, Aeryn would find a suitable tree to sit in and wait for prey to pass by, especially in thicker forests where the chance of an animal crossing is high enough to make it worth waiting. Out here, though? 

A weary sigh passes between Aeryn's lips as he looks out over the area, or what is visible through the storm. Great. Not only will it be hard to even spot something around all the protruding rocks, but it's not the most accessible place to get a clear shot if anything pops up.

It takes him one and a half hours to catch three hares, which is absolutely disgraceful. He's skilled enough to catch more than that, but the terrain and the weather aren't on his side, and the wind kept hurling snow into his eyes no matter what direction he turned his head. Not that that eases his stinging disappointment. 

"Guess it'll have to do," he mutters as he ties the hares together and slings them over his shoulder. No luck with his fishing line either, so he leaves it for the night and hurries back to the camp, his hands and feet numbing of cold yet again.

When he returns, Argis has worked the fire up to roaring flames that heats a cooking pot and a kettle hanging from a freshly made rack. The lanterns are lit inside the tent; a pile of deadwood lay beside stones encircling the fire. Everything is prepared for the night. 

It almost feels homely. 

_Almost_

"Hey, welcome back!" Argis calls from his spot near the fire, smiling until Aeryn gets close enough that his bitter countenance is visible. A worried frown forms on his forehead. "Oh. Uh, how did it go?" 

"Like shit," Aeryn says and dumps the animals on the ground near the fire, pulling the garter up and over his head. "The area sucks for hunting." 

"What? That's more than enough! Might even be some left for breakfast. Good job!"

"Whatever." 

Aeryn plops down in the tent entrance and places the black piece of fabric near the flames before reaching for his backpack to get a hold of that lovely bottle of brandy. He would never, ever make the same mistake of not stocking up enough like he did on the way to Solitude. Fuck, those last days before they arrived had been some of the worst in his life, with Argis' constant prying and 'concern' only adding to his misery. 

The Nord had been breathing down his neck about his occasional consumption long before they left Markarth, always jabbing a subtle remark about how _"You sure you haven't had enough?"_ , _"You might get an awful headache unless you stop for the evening,"_ and _"I understand that you are under a lot of pressure. Wouldn't you rather wish to speak about it?"_

On and on and on like an automated fucking spider, despite Aeryn waving him off again and again. How in the Green did he even convince him to let him join? He was supposed to up and leave once there was nothing else to fix in Markarth; he un-fucked an ongoing war, which should be more than enough of a legacy to leave behind. Well, had he told anyone about it, then maybe, since mentioning helping the Forsworn's criminal mastermind escape Sidna Mines probably wouldn't look good on his resume. But still! The gear they gifted him did give a fair price, though.

And now, he's stuck with the bothersome guy in the middle of a snowstorm in a frozen speck of land, whose gaze burns a hole into his soul as he uncorks the bottle. He had mentioned something about having a person going bad from alcohol earlier, as if Aeryn could give a damn about him or his life.

"Well, you did much better than I would have," Argis says and adds more wood to the flames. "I'm sure you're far more talented at hunting than I am." 

"Probably."

After a few sips of rough liquor, Aeryn puts the bottle aside, wraps his bedroll around his shoulders, and then settles to start with dinner.

"Do you need help with anything?" 

"No." 

"Alright." 

A mixture of dried sage, marigold petals, and chamomile buds go into the kettle before Aeryn starts skinning and cleaning the hares. He effortlessly works his way around the animals until they are gutted, de-boned, and cut into mouth-sized pieces that goes into a bowl. As he seasons the meat with rosemary and salt, an annoyed sigh finally pushes past his lips. "What?" 

"What?"

"Do you want anything?"

"No? I'm just... Observing." Argis smiles a little when Aeryn squints at him. The Nord has been watching him since he began preparing the food. "You're very skilled. I enjoy watching you work."

" _Sure._ " Aeryn snorts and turns to focus on the cooking, attempts to block Argis from his field of view, and crushes a few peppercorns in a small pestle. He bought it in Riften from some bits and bobs merchant in the market because it was ridiculous and adorable. He didn't know it would become one of the most useful things he'd ever gotten.

"Did someone in your family teach you to hunt and cook?" 

A bitter laugh erupts from Aeryn's throat at the question and shakes his head. His parents, teaching him to cook? Oblivion would have to freeze a hundred times over for that to happen. "No."

"Oh... Perhaps your family isn't the camping type, then?" Argis asks, and there's a disappointed tone in his voice. 

"Hardly." 

"Shame. Or, well, I suppose it's not for everyone. We did a lot of bonding out in the forest; my father used to take us boys out for days. Teaching us how to survive, make traps, what berries to eat, how to whittle a spear good enough for defense or attack," Argis tells him for some reason. He sure as heck didn't ask and, frankly, doesn't care. The less he knows, the easier it will be to move along once the Nord gets himself killed. "It was a good time. We became very close. It's been long since now, but I'm still glad we had that time together."

"Amazing," Aeryn deadpans and gives the meat a good shake with the herbs before he gets up and throws them into the empty cooking pot. It sizzles and spits, and the thick smoke that arises fills the air with a heady, gamy smell.

Hopefully, he'll make it tasty enough to eat, despite the failure of a hunt. Butter would have been preferable, but it's difficult to carry without messing up everything else. Gods, like that time he forgot a package in his backpack in summer, and it ruined all his papers and stained his clothes, and damn, that had been such a fucking mess. This is why he needs to keep lists! He should inventory his supplies and write them down. Then again, hadn't he thought about that a thousand times and never gotten to it? He really should -

"So, who taught you then?" 

Aeryn rolls his eyes so hard they strain and ponders for a few seconds, searches for words that would please the stupid man's curiosity. "Many Bosmers are taught how to hunt in Valenwood. The cooking I... Came to learn on the way." 

"Ah, yeah, I've heard much about how your kin is specialized in archery. Got stuck with the fletcher in Solitude for a good hour; he had many interesting things to tell about the art. Especially your, um, Jaqspurs, right?" 

A chill curls up Aeryn's spine and he swallows. Come on, Argis is a dumb meat-head; he wouldn't figure that out. Right? "Yeah, they are quite the thing." 

"I bet you are." 

The wooden spoon slips across the bottom of the pot and bangs against the rim with a loud **clank**. 

_Fuck._

Ice rushes through Aeryn's veins and grows into a cold, hard lump in his stomach that the northern winds can't out-match. He stares blindly at the content in the pot as his pulse begins to race. _Shit, shit, shit, shit_. He unfreezes enough to grab the bucket of water by his feet and dumps it inside the pot, ceasing the sizzles, anything to give him time to come up with _something._

"Why would you say something stupid like that?" he forces through clenched teeth, heart slamming inside his chest. He _couldn't_ have figured it out, unless...

He glances at his bow leaning against one of the tent ropes. The second he entered the Fletcher's Shop, the white bow stood out like a full moon on a naked sky. The _Jaqspur_ bow. Which is why he turned on the doorstep and left.

"Because it's true, isn't it, that you got your hunting and archery skills while becoming a Jaqspur?" Argis claims. "That's how you got your bow, right?" 

Aeryn opens his mouth with an inhale, but nothing comes out. He pokes his tongue against his cheek, still staring at the inside of the pot. The water starts to simmer. He closes his mouth again and exhales slowly through his nose. Fuck. Damn that chatty elf. "I, uh... Guess.."

"You guess?" Argis echoes, clearly not catching on to the obviously uncomfortable situation Aeryn is in. Thick-headed idiot. "Is it something you're ashamed of?" 

"Look, I... I really don't want to talk about it," Aeryn murmurs, refusing to meet Argis gaze and twists the spoon around in the pot, twirls it between his fingers. More than anything, he's rather forget everything about his life prior to leaving Valenwood. Getting thrown back to the memories of training, camping and bonding stirs up unease, and he's tempted to give up on cooking and get drunk instead. But that would be far too obvious, wouldn't it?

"Alright," Argis says, and that's it. No further questions, no pushing the subject, no nothing. As the water comes to a boil and Aeryn throws a few dry bay-leaves into the pot, the Nord has changed the subject and tells him how delicious it smells and about how it reminds him of some favorite food he had as a child. Venison-whatever. 

It strikes Aeryn as odd and, strangely, comforting. Which is perhaps why it's odd. He's rarely comfortable around anyone at any given time, except for a very selected few. While not reading into the feeling, because feelings suck, it does ease his discomfort, and when they sit down to eat, he doesn't mind the company as much. 

For now.

The Nord is still an annoying idiot, though.


	7. From zero to chaos to zero to chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't supposed to go the way it does. It was supposed to be a quick 'yes' or 'no' question. Perhaps, if Argis social skills were above the level of an introverted Mudcrab, and Aeryn had any emotional control at all, it wouldn't have gone as bad as is does.
> 
> And now their horses are fighting too?

So far, it seems that whatever Argis asks, the answer adds another five questions, and he isn't getting anywhere. He knows that Aeryn is a Jaqspur, and might've worked as an elite guard back in Valenwood. He also used to live in Bruma, so it makes sense to assume that he's been in Cyrodiil for at least that one year. 

Moving to a new province isn't uncommon, as many leave their homes searching for love, adventure, explorations, or to train with masters. Argis never felt the need to see the rest of the world, feeling satisfied with his simple, yet exciting, life. However, a tiny spark of curiosity was lit when Aeryn talked about Valenwood. It hit him that there are parts of the world that doesn't resemble his home in any way. So maybe, if the world remains in one piece after Aeryn has fulfilled this... Prophecy, he might take a trip across the border or a boat to Solstheim.

Aeryn, though? What might his reasons have been to leave his luscious forests and enter the cold, harsh north? He refuses to share anything significant about his past, which isn't that uncommon either; you never know whom to trust in these lands, and Argis wouldn't have given it much more though if the elf hadn't paled when mentioning 'Jaqspurs'. And he didn't appear to shut down because he isn't allowed to share trade secrets; it seemed _personal._

Though, despite the itching curiosity, Argis is aware that it isn't up to him to push the subject. He's convinced that, if he keeps asking, it'll only make Aeryn less willing to share anything at all, and that's not going to help Argis figure out what's creating this constant need for alcohol.

No, it's up to Aeryn to share his story, and all Argis can do is keep proving that he's trustworthy and stay by his side through all of it. Though, there's _something_ he's borderline craving to know.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Wow, a question? From you? I'm _shocked._ ”

Annoyed, yes, but it isn't a no, so, "How old are you?"

"... What?" The elf looks up from the parchment he's currently writing on, frowning.

It's about an hour past dinner, a delicious meal Argis made sure to compliment Aeryn on, despite the elf's lack of interest in his opinions, and they're seated on 'their' sides of the tent. Where Argis enjoys the down-time with his book, 'When The Moon Rose Over Jerall Mountain', Aeryn has poured all of the content out of his backpack and is currently picking up and noting down each and every item.

"What's your age?"

"I - hey, I know what you mean!" Aeryn huffs and dips the quill into the inkwell, then taps the tip against the rim. "Why do you care about how old I am?"

Argis chews on his cheek. "It's just that you look, hm, different from other Bosmer's I've met."

“Different... _How_?”

"Your face, mostly. About every Bosmer I've encountered in Skyrim have these..." He waves a finger back and forth across his face. "Hollow cheeks, arrow-point chins, and noses, right? Hard features. Your face is much more... Soft. No sharp angles."

Aeryn squints. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult?"

"It's non, it's an observation. You haven't thought about it since coming here?"

Aeryn seems to ponder the question for a few seconds, then shakes his head. "No? Do you compare yourself with every Nord you pass?"

"Ah, well, no, I suppose I don't. Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Are you going to tell me?"

Aeryn rolls his eyes and focuses on his inventory, picking up a golden ring with sapphire inlays. "No. I don't see how my age has anything to do with... Well, anything."

"Guess it doesn't, as I said; I'm simply curious. Please?"

"Oh, wow, really?" Aeryn lets out a throaty chortle and glances up from the parchment. "We're begging now? Don't tell me you're going for puppy-eye as well?"

"Come on, it's an innocent question!" Argis insists. "I'll go first; I'm thirty-four."

"Don't fucking care," Aeryn sing-songs sourly.

Dammit, this isn't getting him anywhere. Is this going to be the hundredth subject he'll be forced to drop and hope that the elf randomly tells him someday? Then, he perks up as an idea sparks.

"Or maybe," he drawls thoughtfully. "You're just a kid who's too young to be out on his own, and you're too ashamed to tell me?"

Aeryn snorts and shoots Argis an offended look. "Seriously? Gods, you're such a fucking nuisance, I'm _not_ a kid."

"Well." Argis folds his arms and rolls his head. "If you're not telling me your age, I'll just have to assume that you are."

The elf's face scrunches up, muscles around his nose trembling as he glares with the hatred of a grumpy youngster who's being forced inside to clean the dishes. Still, he doesn't give him anything, though now Argis have a sensitive nerve to poke at in the hope that it'll bring him gold in the end. It might as well be the death of him.

"Alright, alright," he relents, a smirk on his lips. "Whenever you're up for it, I'm all ears. _Kid._ "

"Oh, no, you are **not** calling me 'kid,'" Aeryn dares and jabs the quill in Argis' direction, splattering ink onto the parchment and the groundsheet.

"You're welcome to prove the opposite, then perhaps I won't."

Aeryn gawks. "I'm sorry, did I put something in the pot that turned you into a fucking _princess_?" He points the quill toward his chest. "Thane, remember?" Then jabs it back at Argis. "Housecarl."

This might turn into a disaster, but Argis isn't going to give in now. He's enjoying that insulted look on Aeryn's face a bit too much. "If I remember correctly, you're the one who swore to cut my limbs off if I call you that." Aeryn huffs and rolls his eyes, and Argis pushes on. "Besides, I don't serve kids."

"I'm not a fucking **kid**!" the elf exclaims and throws his arms out, chest expanding with deep breaths. His eyes narrow. "Besides," he says acidly. "Bosmers doesn't age like Nords. And I'm not going to get into that because you're probably too stupid to understand."

Argis blinks and unwraps his arms to place a palm onto his chest, huffing a shocked laugh. He shouldn't be surprised about the insult, he's heard it a hundred times before, and while he isn't perfect or a genius, he definitely isn't stupid. Large masses of muscles doesn't always mean smaller brains. "I'm **not** stupid, Aeryn. Please, don't call me that." 

" _You're welcome to prove the opposite, then perhaps I won't._ " 

The elf makes a horrible impression of Argis' deep, northern accent and sticks his tongue out before returning to his papers, and Argis is the one gawking this time. Did he just...?

A breathy laugh passes Argis' lips, and he drags a hand over his face. Well, he walked straight into that one, didn't he? That's a little embarrassing. "Suppose I should've seen that one coming," he admits awkwardly, then chuckles and shakes his head. 

"Told you that you're stupid," Aeryn says arrogantly, and a smug smirk sneaks upon his lips. "Maybe watch your fucking mouth around smarter people."

Witty _and_ an asshole. Charming. "I suppose." Argis scratches the back of his head, de-tangles his hair while he's at it. Maybe he should get a cut when they return to Solitude? The length is starting to annoy him, reaching just below his shoulders. Aeryn returns to his inventory, and Argis watches him scribble cursive letters, quietly amazing over his ability to write with his left hand without smudging the page.

His wrist moves with a graceful flow as if he's been writing diplomatic missives his entire life, and as the question of the elf's origin pops up again, there's a sudden realization.

While in Markarth and on the journey to Solitude, Aeryn's Cyrodilic, upper-class swirling of words had come across as strange, as he's born in Valenwood, though Argis got used to it after a couple of weeks. Now, there's nothing remotely sophisticated about his speech; instead, he sounds like he's been raiding ships on the Abecean Sea.

Argis studies Aeryn as clarity grows. Maybe he _is_ letting his guard down, not by sharing his past, but by dropping a piece of his facade. Huh. Perhaps he isn't as impossible to get through as Argis first thought.

Satisfied about the observation, he settles comfortably on his side, resting his head in his palm, and is about to return to his book when something glistening catches his eye.

By Aeryn's side lies a couple of peculiar, palm-sized golden boxes, eight of them lined up on Aeryn's bedroll, seemingly identical. When he leans closer to get a better look, the elf quickly collects them and packs them away. _Subtile._

As Argis is about to ask, he spots a stack of pocket-sized books and immediately forgets the boxes. He's never seen ones so small. "Where did you get those books?"

"Imperial City," Aeryn mumbles without looking up. 

So he _has_ been around in Cyrodiil. "Can I take a look?"

The elf glances up with a wrinkle on his forehead. "... Fine. Just don't ruin them. They are damn hard to get a hold on." Aeryn pushes the books over to Argis' side and peers up with a grin. "No smutty stories, though."

"What? I don't - ... Hah, very funny." Argis rolls his eye and grabs the top book, grouching that not every fiction is a smutty one. It's small enough to fit in his palm. The edges are worn and flattened, and the title has faded a bit from use.

_'A Herbalist's Guide to Cyrodiil'_.

He opens it and turns a few pages until he comes across sketches of plants in alphabetical order, each one with a short description of uses and characteristics. Aloe Vera, Clouded Funnel, Columbine Root. Dragon's Tongue he recognizes. Huh, apparently it's used in potions to resist fire. Fennel, Foxglove, Ginko.

Many of the pages have hand-written notes and dog ears, some sketches encircled, and others crossed out. Like the page with Fly Amanita, that's got a large scribble across the page that Argis can't translate.

"What does this say?" he asks and holds the book up for Aeryn, who glances at it. His lips form a flat smile.

"... It says; 'don't fucking eat.'"

Argis chokes a laugh. “You _ate_ one of these?” 

"I didn't have the damn book when I did, and most safe plants in Valenwood are all very colorful," he mutters and squirms a little. Argis hums.

"Makes sense, then. Good thing you didn't eat enough to kill yourself."

"I guess." Aeryn shrugs and peers up, smirking. "But it was one heck of a trip."

Argis decides not to inquire about that, instead browses through the other three books. _'Proper Lock Design and Construction’_ , _'Purloined Shadows’_ and _'Sacred Witness - A True History of the Night Mother.’_ One of the titles confuses him a bit more than the others.

"Aeryn, _why_ do you have a book on lock design?"

"Because Bandits keep their stuff locked away? And Dwemer's number one kink is putting locks on everything?"

"Oh... Right." And here, his first concern had been that he elf was breaking into people's houses. So much for an open mind. "You've seen an old Dwemer City?"

"Did you miss out on the one beneath Understone Keep?" Aeryn looks up, raising his eyebrows, when Argis gives him a nonplussed look. "The whole expedition-thing? Nashua-something-whatever? The place I ran around for two fucking days looking for researchers while getting swarmed with Falmer and automated crab-spider-things?"

Argis' face falls. Had he really been walking around on top of an old ruin without knowing? "Seriously? Damn. Nobody told me about that. I knew they were digging out that part of the keep, but that's all. That must've been quite the sight, huh?" 

"They all look the same, really. Labyrinths with a hundred rooms, traps everywhere, flooded, smells like sewer." The elf shudders. "You see one, you've seen them all."

While that might be the case, Argis still exhales, disappointed to have missed the chance to see a proper old city for himself. He'd seen paintings and sketches and heard stories, but to walk amongst those ancient halls himself one day? Damn. That would be something. "I'd still like to see it for myself sometime. I've heard so many things about them, about what fascinating people they were and their complicated creations."

"You'll regret that." Aeryn chuckles and gives him a knowing look. "Once you're down there, standing face to face to a giant fucking Centurion, you'll curse the old Dwelmers for their innovative minds."

With the image of one of those mechanic giants in his mind, Argis piles the books together and gets up to tend to the fire. Vól snorts when he emerges from the tent and walks over, tied with a long enough rope to let her wander around.

"Hey, pretty girl," he coos affectionately when she nudges his shoulder. She then bends her head down and presses it against his chest. "Feeling lonely, huh?" He gives the mare a good scratching behind her ears and between her eyes, smiling as he does. "Bet you're happy to be out and about as well. That stable must've been boring."

In the corner of his eye, Aeryn's stallion is still sticking around, busy munching on a pine tree branch across their camp. 

Of course, it's possible to build up a strong bond with your horse, enough so that they stay by your side when given the possibility to leave. While he does trust Vól to not attack him or throw him off, he can't tell if she'd run away if giving a chance. Maybe he's a tad bit jealous.

He turns back to look at Vól, who's lipping at his pocket. "Oh, _really?_ That's why you're all love-sick, huh?" Argis chuckles and ruffles her brown forelock. "You are one spoiled girl. I guess that's my fault."

After adding a few dead branches to the fire, he gets an apple from his backpack, and, as he exits the tent again, Aeryn's horse _suddenly_ decides to come over. "Well, well, isn't that a bit too obvious?"

The large stallion snorts and stops once he's close enough, standing beside Vól, and reaches his head closer to try and sniff the apple. Then, Vól lashes out and bites him in the neck.

"Whoa, Vól! Stop that!" Argis shouts and grabs hold of the rope, pulling her head away as she goes at him again, ears pinned back. The stallion throws his head and whinnies in response, backing away when Vól tries to get up on her hind legs, the only thing stopping her is Argis' weight holding her down. "What the heck are you doing? Knock it off!"

"What's going on?" Aeryn calls from the tent.

"I don't know! Your horse came around when I brought an apple, and Vól bit him!" He turns to his horse again, fists whitening around the rope attached to her halter as he tries to hold her in place. "When did you become jealous? It's just a snack!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake. **Frost**!" Aeryn barks and the stallion's head snaps towards the sound. Ah, so that's his name. "Stop being a fat idiot! Don't steal food, we've talked about this!" The horse snorts. "I don't care! You want someone to steal your food? No, didn't think so. Suit yourself; I'm not pitying you." Frost throws his head up and tosses it, ruffling his blonde mane. "Try asking nicely for once! Aren't you supposed to be noble or something? _Act like it!_ "

While it's unlikely that the two of them understand each other, Frost snorts and walks around to the other side of the camp, and Vól finally stops thrashing. "Damn, girl, no need to get all angry like that," Argis says and sighs as he strokes her neck. "He was just checking it out. Here." He picks the apple up from where he dropped it and gives it to his mare, who retreats back to the sheltered spot. Well, that was sudden. Has she behaved like that before? No, he doesn't think so. Maybe she's in a grumpy mood today.

Aeryn emerges moments later, grumbling with his bedroll tightly wrapped around his shoulders, striding across the snowy ground to his stallion. "You stupid pony, making me go out in the cold." He mutters and looks over Frost's neck. "You're lucky she didn't bite all way through. Behave, would you?" He produces an apple that the horse gladly accepts, then sighs and pats his neck. "Can't have you getting injured because you're stupid. I need you, okay?"

Frost snorts and nuzzles Aeryn's face, who pushes it away. "Ugh, fuck, you're cold." He shudders and gives the horse a quick scratching behind the ears. "Now, don't make me come out again, alright?"

On his way back to the tent, Aeryn stops and turns, pointing his index and middle fingers at his eyes and then jabbing them at Frost, then hurries inside. 

-

The following hour, they keep to their own, Aeryn efficiently working through his pile of things while Argis rests on his back, enjoying the serenity and the many sounds of the forest.

Living in the keep was never bad, but Argis prefers being outside, both for obvious reasons as fresh air and freedom and being in motion, but, mostly, the lack of crowds. Not that he minds people, he isn't aspiring to become a hermit, but having the option to not stand in the middle of erratic discussions and complaining nine hours a day is preferable. 

Between the whining wind and creaking branches, the occasional bird chirping, the snaps and pops of the fire, and snorting horses, is the scratching of quill on parchment accompanied with hums and mumbling. Argis rolls his head to the side as the elf stretches his arms over his head and quietly groans, then hunches over again to keep writing. For someone who's been tasked by the Gods to be the savior of the world, he's very calm. Or appears to be very calm, as Argis can't possibly think that he's _this_ unaffected by everything going on. Add the Civil War, the Forsworn, politics, and there you have the perfect recipe for a mental breakdown. That's likely where the alcohol plays its part, as a sedative. Say, what does the elf look like behind those layers of ointments and bucket-loads of spiced wine that's holding his seams together? Is he as vibrant and energetic as he'd been at the inn, or is he a bitter soul struggling to find enough will to get up in the morning? Maybe he's both.

"I'll take first watch," Aeryn says when Argis stretches out with a big yawn. "I need to get these things packed up anyway."

"Alright." Though, speaking of buckets of wine. "Hey, um, I know that you're sick of me asking questions already." He gets up to sit on his bedroll and face Aeryn. "But I need to ask you something important, and I need an honest answer."

Aeryn's shoulder creeps up to his ears, the quill hovering over the paper, and he peers up with wary eyes, as if he's expecting to get scolded. "I - uh... Okay?"

"Do you get drunk when you're on watch?"

A heartbeat passes in complete silence, as if time stopped altogether, then the concern in Aeryn's eyes harden. His face tenses up, lip curling back over his intimidating canines. "Y'ffre's fucking ass, you think I'm **stupid**?!"

Ice shoots down Argis' stomach, and he leans away. Alright, perhaps he could've chosen a more subtle way of bringing the subject up. He clears his throat. "I don't _think_ anything, Aeryn," he insists and shows his palms. "I'm not accusing you; I'm simply asking."

"Why the fuck do you need to ask?!" Argis flinches at the _pop_ where Aeryn snaps the quill with his thumb, and the nip lands on the parchment, bleeds ink into the beautifully curved letters. Argis swallows. This is not turning out the way he had hoped.

"Look, I'm only asking because I need to know for my safety, okay? Because if you dull your senses -"

"You think that I'd put others in danger?!"

"Aeryn, please, I don't think _anything_ , I'm just asking - "

"What, if I'm a **monster**?" Aeryn snarls, his face reddening. "If I'm some mindless fucking drunk that can't control myself?"

Goddammit, he sure stepped on a nerve this time. It was just a 'yes' or 'no' question! It shouldn't have to be this dramatic. "What, no! I just - Aeryn, please, I'm asking because it's a matter of trust, and -"

"What, you don't trust me?"

Argis inhales, but the fall on his face is too obvious, and Aeryn's eyes narrow to thin slits. Great. Just great. The elf clicks his tongue, his voice seeping with venom. "You don't trust me."

No, Argis doesn't. He hasn't had enough time spent with him to form an opinion of who he is, how his mind operates, or what his principles are, especially since he's keeping to himself at all possible times.

"Well." Argis drags a hand across his face, then sighs. "You've made it clear that you don't trust me either, so I guess that puts us on the same level." Aeryn glares embers, but doesn't say anything. "And I'm asking because I want to build trust towards you."

" _This_ is how you want to build trust?" Aeryn jeers. "Aren't you real fucking smooth. Should've left you with the bards." 

"I'm _sorry_ , alright? I didn't mean to insult you, I just - ... I'm sorry. Really." He tips his head to the side with a hesitant smile, hands dropping to his knees. "I got concerned when you had so much last night, so I... It just got me wondering if you usually drink that much or if it was a one-time."

Aeryn snorts a dismissive laugh. "You and your goddamn concern, _Housecarl._ " He leans in a bit, enough for Argis to notice the vein twitching on his forehead. "You've got your answer, haven't you? Unless you need me to spell it out for that thick fucking head of yours?"

Annoyance flashes through Argis' guts, and he inhales slowly. By Ysmir, this guy is excellent at jabbing the right nerves to get a reaction. It might be his plan, trying to rally him up to have someone to scream back at. Argis isn't going to give him the pleasure. "No, there's no need," he assures between gritted teeth. "Point taken."

"Good. Remember that the next time you're about to ask me stupid fucking questions."

Aeryn treats him like air during the rest of the evening, which doesn't come as a surprise. While he can't argue with the elf's reaction, and he does feel a bit guilty about it, it was rather dramatic. It was a simple question, and he really didn't have to get so upset about it; he should know where Argis' comes from with that sort of concern, right? Still, he got an answer to his worries.

Now, all he has to do is trust Aeryn's words for it.


	8. Ship o'hoy, Ship uh-oh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving along to start ticking off the many missions, the sulky mood remains, until it gets even worse. Argis learns about one of Aeryn's, for once, nicer characteristics, before learning about a completely opposite one that makes him question his safety around the Dragonborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for quest spoilers!   
> Trigger warning; Gore.

The bitter, tense atmosphere didn't help Argis fall asleep that night, and he was easily woken by Aeryn kicking his foot when it was his time to get up and take over watch. Not hard, not gentle. A salty kick.

The remainder of the night passes smoothly. Their horses keeps to themselves on different sides of the camp, and no animal or human shows up for a fight. Argis hears distant howling at one point, but no wolves appear. Almost as they sense that tonight isn't the best to add more chaos.

It's hard to keep his mind off Aeryn. Whenever a pleasant memory comes forth, it's swept away with further speculations of what causes this destructive habit, if there's something he can do to help. Gods, here he is again, being concerned where it isn't his place. He doesn't get paid to care about Aeryn's mental health, he'd sure demand a raise if that was the case, yet still, he's investing time and energy into trying to figure out how to ease his pain. Maybe, because it's different this time.

Because this one hits too close to home.

Argis sighs and leans back to watch the clouds lazily drift by, illuminated whenever the moon peeks out between the gray masses. Embers flicker and swirls before him, reaches toward the sky, only to die in the cold air.

He's seen all of this play out before; the anger, the mood swings, the denial, the excuses. He stood helpless and watched bitterness consume the person he thought was indestructible all those years ago.

"What do you think?" he whispers the moon. "Am I doing this for him?" A gust of wind sweeps across the land, and the fire spits angrily as it fights back. He turns his head to the dark tent, and a twang of guilt jabs him in the gut. "Or am I doing it for me?"

-

Dawn arrives with a bright blue rim across the horizon and crisp air. It's such a nice change from the frowsty, stale air of the Understone Keep, and despite last evening going horribly wrong, he's still grateful that he's out here and not back there.

Aeryn doesn't greet him back when he exits the tent or speaks to him at all while they eat or when they pack the camp up or move on. Not that Argis needs him to; they're going to search for a lost helmet in a cave along the coastline, then they'll circle back down south to take a look at that fort, then...

Then, there is the _Dragon._

There's no knowing if they run into one or ten of them as they travel; all Argis is praying for is to survive the day he has to stand up against one. Sure, Aeryn is experienced, but he hasn't even seen one up close before.

They set off before noon, stopping only for Aeryn to pull up a tired salmon on a fishing line. He smacks it's head against a stone, killing it instantly, then makes quick work of wrapping it in a cloth filled with salt. Then, they move on.

If the weather had been anything similar to yesterday, the cave would have been impossible to find, hidden away amongst protruding rocks and thick trees. If it wasn't for Aeryn's keen eyes, they likely would've passed it without a clue.

Aeryn slides off Frost's back without a word and starts exchanging arrows between the quiver on his hip and the larger one strapped onto the horse's saddle. They still haven't spoken once and, judging by Aeryn's pinched expression, the elf won't be the first to break the silence. Argis sighs and gets off Vól.

"So, how do you want to do this?"

"Alone," Aeryn snaps and strides through the snow to throw his backpack underneath a pine tree, then returns to his horse. "You stay here, alright?" Frost nudges the side of Aeryn's head, and the elf pats his cheek. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine."

Argis rubs his brows. So, this is how it's going to be? "You can't be serious? You're going in _alone_? Aeryn, please -"

"Did I fucking stutter? I'm quicker and better when I don't have a noisy giant on my heels." He turns and walks toward the cave. "Shut up and stay out of my way."

Oh, sweet mercy of Mara, this is going to test his patience. Argis inhales sharply and holds the breath for a few seconds before slowly exhaling in an attempt to soothe his pulse. "Alright," he grunts. "Holler if you need me."

And here he is again, _standing around._ Gods, this is starting to feel like a cruel joke. All he wanted was to join on some adventures, and now he's banned from that as well.

"Unbelievable," he grumbles and starts pacing back and forth outside the cave, waits, watches, sulks, until a few minutes later when an explosion shakes the snow off the nearby pine branches, and Argis' nerves fires up. He unsheaths his sword and moves closer to the entrance, listens to the echoes of shouting, and a whiff of sulfur strikes him in the nose.

Another explosion rattles the earth, and a cloud of dust blows past him. Then, silence falls. Argis waits ten seconds before making his way inside.

Cautiously, he moves along a wide tunnel that emerges into a vast room. It's dimly lit with wall scones and bowls of fire that hangs low on chains from the ceiling. The smell of sulfur is more intense, stinging in his throat as he steps across the open space.

Aeryn is rummaging through a chest on an elevated section at the end of the room and doesn't pay him any attention, probably aware of Argis' presence already, and the Nord exhales relief that he's alright.

Two bodies lay on the ground, both dressed in black robes, and a steaming pile of embers that catches Argis' curiosity.

"Hey, Aeryn, what's this?" he asks as he squats down next to the pile to get a closer look. The 'embers' are small reddish flakes that gleam in the flickering light.

"Fire Atronach," Aeryn's muffled voice calls from inside the chest. "Don't touch it!"

Argis frowns and leans in closer. He's seen drawings of those in books but never encountered one. "Does it burn?"

"Ugh, _no_ , but I need to collect the salt."

Ah, so that's the small flaky things. "Can I help?"

An exaggerated exhale echoes against the rugged walls, and Aeryn's narrow eyes pokes up from behind the chest lid. He clicks his tongue. " _Fine._ Here." He disappears for a few seconds, then drops a small linen bag over the edge of the level. "Get as much as you can in there, _carefully._ It's fragile."

Happy to be included for once, Argis does his best to carefully scrape the salt into the bag, then joins the elf while he scavenges bookshelves for ruined books and parchments, drawers for a handful of lockpicks and a bottle with a light green content, and finishes of by nestling a worn but intact book under his arm. On their way out, he fishes an old helmet up from the chest. Mission accomplished, it seems.

"What's with the book?" Argis asks once they've returned to their horses, handing Aeryn the sack of ashes after he's strapped the helmet to Frost's side-straps and packed said book away.

"The blacksmith in Markarth mentioned it some time," he mutters and eases the sack down one of the many bags on Frost's back, then goes to retrieve his backpack. "Re-called the title when I saw it."

What, he's going to drag a heavy book along for someone who 'mentioned' it months ago? "Oh. I see. What's the compensation?"

The elf shrugs before leaping up onto Frost's back. "Didn't ask." He motions the horse into a walk, and Argis hurries to get up on Vól.

"Why not?"

"It's just a fucking book. I can send it from Solitude. It's no big deal."

Argis blinks. Not only is he retrieving a helmet for some old war veteran who's unlikely to give a handsome sum for the deed, but he's going out of his way to pay a courier to get a book all the way back to Markarth? The bounties from the Jarl makes sense; they come with hefty rewards, but this is likely going to cost him more than he earns. So... Is he doing it to gain favor, or from the kindness of his heart? He doesn't come across as generous, though, Argis doesn't know much about him in general, though he _is_ putting his life at risk for both Jarl's and strangers, who throws themselves at his feet to either beg for help or praise his existence.

"That's very kind of you," Argis says and meets a puzzled look on Aeryn's face. "The quest of your life is to find a way to end the World-Eater, and yet you take the time to aid those who might not be able to afford a hireling. I can see why people look up to you."

"... What? Who's looking up to me?"

"Aren't everyone?" Argis lifts his eyebrows. "In Markarth, the second people learned who you are, they crowded you on the streets, you've had children begging you for stories of Dragons and adventure. Couriers came knocking on the door from all over Skyrim with letters from nobles and workers."

Aeryn snorts. "The only thing those posh assholes want is to brag about me as their 'friend' at dinner parties. They want to use the 'Dragonborn' to add weight to their names, nothing more. They wouldn't pull me out of a burning house unless I swore to put in a good word for them."

"And the workers?"

"The workers, they..." Aeryn sighs. "They don't have anyone else, I guess. The Jarls can't do more than throw people at the Dragons when they get too close, while bandits are making a profit on the unrest, and then there's this stupid fucking war in the middle of everything." He wrinkles his nose. "I'm just... Thrown into the middle of this goddamn mess with a fancy title that makes people think I'm some sort of Hero."

Gods, he really is, isn't he? He got captured on the border, and now he's supposed to deal with everyone's problems while saving the world. This isn't news, but it stings differently when it comes from Aeryn's mouth.

"And if, you know..." He rubs his chest. "If finding someone's stolen wedding band will make life a little less shitty, then why not?"

Ah. So, there is a touch of selflessness underneath all that nonchalance. Good to know.

"Why did you come to Skyrim in the first place?" Argis asks, again, and shows a slight smile at the somber expression on Aeryn's face. He exhales tiredly.

"To get a better life," he replies bitterly, then turns to watch the snowy path. "Don't think I need to spell out how that went."

Before Argis gets a chance to say anything, Aeryn kicks Frost into a trot. Ah. So that's why the elf isn't smiling very often.

They ride in silence along the rugged coast, Argis lost in thought of what Aeryn's life might've been before coming here and what it's like being thrown into a responsibility like this until a mast peeks up above the sparse tree line. Soon, a ship appears on the beach, and it takes several confused seconds to piece the image together; it's a shipwreck.

"Damn, look at that. Maybe that's the ship those folks mentioned in Solitude?" he says and squints at the damaged hull. Figures are moving across the beach, probably the guards he heard of earlier. "Looks like it took a bad hit. I hope the crew is alright, must've been quite the storm when the lighthouse went out."

When Aeryn doesn't say anything, Argis turns his head, and a knot forms in his stomach. The elf is frantically tugging at his leather-clad fingers, wide eyes staring straight ahead to the scene. "Aeryn?"

"Y - yeah?"

"Something you want to tell me?"

The elf wets his lips and swallows, then urges Frost to pick up the pace. Argis chest grows cold. Gods, don't tell him that he's got something to do with this mess?

Argis soon joins Aeryn's side again as the elf has stopped further up ahead in the clearing leading up to the beach, and Argis' heart stops. The beachfront has turned into a sea of red. Scattered across it are bodies with arrows and blades in their backs, some in shirts and trousers, others wearing red armors that blend in with the blood they lie upon. Between the corpses are people walking, searching, and there's a faint sound of chatter.

"What in the world..." he whispers, then turns to Aeryn. His face is scrunched up, teeth bared, and neck corded. "Is this - "

Aeryn doesn't give him time to finish before sliding off Frost and unhinging his bow, and Argis quickly follows, a thousand questions swirling inside his mind as he unsheathes his sword and joins the elf side as he strides onto the beach. The knot grows in Argis' stomach when he steps over a red shield with the wolf of Haafingar painted in the middle. Gods, so the soldiers did come to the rescue. Then, who are these people searching the beach?

"Oi!" a woman snaps further down the beach. "This is no place for tourists!" Aeryn continues toward them. "How 'bout you do yourself a smart one and - "

"Shut it, Beryssa!" another interjects. "That's the guy Deeja spoke of. She expects him!"

Oh, no. No, no, no, don't tell him -

"That's the lighthouse-guy! Hey, good job on that!

*

**No.**

Time stops with a whack to the guts, and Argis stares at the two approaching women, then at Aeryn, who's face is flushed. His nostrils flare with a sharp inhale. It hadn't just been a hunch; Aeryn _was_ involved in putting the lighthouse fire out. He _caused_ the shipwreck. Why in the name of Oblivion would he do something so cruel; didn't they just talk of his kindness towards those who aren't as lucky in this world? Perhaps it is just an act to gain kudos, after all.

"Thanks for the help!" the woman goes on as they meet on the middle of the beach, stepping over corpses and bloodied weapons. Their faces are painted with the famous Blackblood Marauders pattern, one Argis has come across on a few occasions between Solitude and Windhelm. "You made our job much eas - "

The last word becomes an obscene gurgle as Aeryn snatches an arrow, stabs it into the woman's throat, and then yanks it out. Her eyes roll back into her head before she collapses, blood gushing from the hole, and Argis doesn't get time to comprehend what happened before Aeryn loads the arrow and shoots it between the other woman's eyes.

The low buzz quickly turns into alarm from the surrounding marauders, and more emerges from the broken hull, blades and axes raised, rushing at them, and Aeryn starts picking them off one by one.

Questions and disappointment shoved aside, Argis rushes on ahead, body hunched as he slams a raider to the ground with his new shield, then stabs his blade through their neck. Well, he asked for a fight, and here it is.

The beach falls into chaos. The number of Blackblood's isn't great but enough to break a sweat, and they don't take turns. If it wasn't for Aeryn's skills, now that he's doing what he's supposed to, Argis would've been overrun within a minute. Where he thrusts his blade through the leather of one, Aeryn's arrows hits another, and Argis keeps glancing over his shoulder to ensure that the elf stays alive.

As an attacker gets too close, Aeryn ducks underneath the incoming swing and swirls around, wielding his bow in both hands, and wallops the back of the marauder's head, giving him more than enough time to nock and release an arrow into their neck. Alright, perhaps he's better at looking after himself than Argis gives him credit for.

Argis blocks an incoming blow with his sword and knocks his shield over the marauder's head, shoving him away to deflect another blade aiming for his chest. He pierces the other marauder's stomach and yanks his sword out in time for the first to regain his composure and rush at him, furiously flailing his axes, and Argis growls as one of the blades catches his arm before he can thrust his sword into the man's back as he stumbles past. He only gets a few seconds to snatch a healing potion from his belt before he's rushed again and chugs the content, coughing when some of it hits the wrong pipe and throws the vial aside. The wound immediately starts tingling and Argis backs up to allow it more time to close up, praying it's enough when the woman closes in with her blade raised.

Though, when he's about to fend her off, a high-pitch cry freezes his veins over. Aeryn is dashing across the beach towards the hull when an arrow hits him in the thigh, and he stumbles to the ground, catching himself on the body of a dead soldier. Another arrow pierces the sand near him, shot from somewhere up on deck.

As a sword comes swinging his way, unfocused, Argis blocks it from an awkward angle, and the impact tugs something in his shoulder, followed by a pang of pain that knocks the air out of him. He side-steps out of range from another blow and darts a glance at Aeryn, who's still on the ground, now on his side with his bow readied, aimed up at the hull. Argis steps away again, the pain quickly transforming into a sharp throbbing, and he presses the shield to his stomach while battling off the woman, using every trick he knows until he gets in close enough to kick the back of her knee and shove his blade into her chest when she falls over.

Once she goes down, and no one is coming his way this second, Argis sprints over to Aeryn and slides to his knees by his side, arm trembling as he forces his shield up to protect them both from more arrows. One, then two hits the skillfully crafted piece, and Argis bites down as the sharp pain ripples through his shoulder up his neck.

"Pull it out!" the elf snarls and fumbles for a potion from his belt. " **Now!** "

Argis drops his sword and yanks the arrow out, a chill shooting through his guts at Aeryn's jaw-clenched cry as blood spills out from the jagged hole. He looks around, thanking the gods that they are still in the clear when another arrow hits the ground by his feet.

Aeryn rolls over to his back, gasping as the potion repairs the wound, and grabs his bow and a handful of arrows. He nocks one, then shifts, and Argis looks up to stare at a silvery tip pointed at his face.

"Move," Aeryn commands darkly, and Argis rolls to the side, looking up in time to see the arrow sail across the air and the figure by the railing jerks, then collapses. Three more arrows follow in a rapid session, and the remaining archers go down, Argis throwing his shield up to protect them from the last arrow they manage to loosen.

"Are you okay?" Argis worries as he grabs his sword and gets back on his feet, hissing at the ache, and cuts the arrow shafts off his shield.

"Just _fine_ ," the elf snarls as he clambers up and clenches his jaw, then shifts his weight to his wounded leg and gasps. "Just as new."

As if he's fooling anyone? Still, the limp doesn't stop him from moving on towards the hull, and he's up to sprinting speed before dashing inside the ship, Argis keeping close on his heels.

*

The confined space inside doesn't slow Aeryn down; even up close, he's quick enough to shoot down anyone who tries to get up and personal, using his bow as a club when needed, and swirls out of reach for blades and axes as graceful as a dancer.

Just as Argis is about to catch up, another dead marauder by his feet, Aeryn leaps off the creaky boards and grab the head of a doorframe, using the momentum to swing forward and kick someone in the chest, sending them tumbling down the stairs to the lower deck.

Argis rounds the door in time for Aeryn to jab an arrow into the person's throat, pull it out and load it, and the moment his feet hit the lower level, a raider appears and bashes him in the chest, sending him flying backward out of view.

With his heart in his throat, Argis rushes down and throws a quick glance over his shoulder before dashing towards the woman, who's aiming her blade at Aeryn. The elf, who's gasping hunched over by the wall, throws himself to the ground before the edge swoops down at his head. A rush of adrenaline drowns out the pain as Argis crashes into the woman and thrusts his sword into her side, slamming her up against the wall before twisting the blade and pulling it back out. Her screams dies down as she slides off the wall, sword clattering against the floor by the time Argis is squatting down by Aeryn's side.

He's sitting in a pool of oily green and red liquids, gasping harsh breaths with a hand clutching his chest, face blanched. He doesn't appear to be bleeding, though he might've gotten a broken rib or two.

"Here." Argis pushes a potion into his lap before spinning around in time to clash his sword against another as a raider rushes into the room, fumbling to keep his balance. Goddammit, how many of them are there in here? And what's with Aeryn's horrible habit of bull-rushing enemies? Ysmir's beard, they need to talk about this.

The blade swings back, and Argis throws his shield against it, growling at the shockwave crashing through his shoulder, barely blocking enough to get a second and stumble to his feet. Somewhere behind the rushing blood, adrenaline, and focus, he's grateful for his military training, as it makes it a lot easier to deal with bandits whose primary source of fighting-knowledge comes from the streets. He's no stranger to playing it dirty either, as he does when he gets an opening to shove his knee up the man's groin and pierce his sword through the back of his neck when he folds over. Survival isn't always honorable, but it gets the job done.

By the time he's cut the man down, Aeryn is up, leaning heavily against the wall, his breathing still coming in hard bursts, strands of hair sticking to his sweaty face. Argis is there, reaching out for him to... Help, to steady, to do anything, but the elf bats his hand away and grabs another couple of arrows.

*

" **Deeja!** ", he roars hoarsely, sending off an arrow at the marauder that pops out from a hallway. He pauses for a few seconds, holding himself against the wall. Then, he stumbles on. "Get out here, you fucking whore!"

They enter the hallway, and Aeryn turns around the corner, coming to a full stop with another arrow lined up within a heartbeat. Argis glances around the room before facing Aeryn's direction, and his view; an Argonian, standing on the other side of the room, arms crossed and leaning back against a desk. She's all dressed in black leather, her slim, golden eyes flickering with ire, an unnerving smirk on her scaly lips.

"Well, well, well." She sighs and crosses her feet, tapping her toes against the old floor. "From what I was told, we were supposed to have a deal. Now, it looks like you've made quite the mess of my crew. Care to explain yourself?"

"No one was supposed to get hurt!" Aeryn squawks and loosens the arrow that hits the wall inches beside Deeja's face, then clutches his heaving chest. She doesn't flinch. "That was the fucking deal! _Nobody_!"

"Oh, please, kid, don't be so naïve." She snorts and pushes off the table, placing a hand on her hip. "Don't tell me that Jaree-Ra actually made you believe that this would be an undercover rescue mission?" She sneers, scoffing when Aeryn's face falls. "Awh. How _adorable_."

Ah. So, Aeryn wasn't in on this bloodbath. That's... Not as comforting as Argis wishes it would be.

Aeryn's upper lip curls back. "You cold-hearted fucking piece of filth," he growls. "I swear, I'll - "

"You'll what? Kill me? Sure, go ahead, try." She grins, flashing rows of razor-sharp teeth. "Bet you can't without that precious bow of yours. It's the same with all you archers; too much of a pussy to get up close."

Knowing full well that it's a trap to get up close and personal, Argis eye blows wide when the elf actually drops his weapon to the floor. Good God, he can't be serious? After already getting injured, he's going to throw himself into melee? _Again?_ "Aeryn," he warns, but the elf waves him off.

"Shut up and stay out."

Oh, Gods, the elf's got a deathwish.

Deeja laughs. "So, the little tree-hugger wants to play? Ha! Alright, then." She unsheaths her two daggers, twirling one of them around in hand. "And what are you supposed to kill me with, kid?"

"Your blades will do just fine," Aeryn snarls, shifting his stance to stand with one foot slightly behind the other, as if he's bracing for something. There's a second of stunned silence before Deeja cackles.

"Hah! Can't wait to see you try!"

There's a strangely focused look on Aeryn's face, as if he knows what he's doing, and Argis can't possibly figure out _what_ that is.

Then, he inhales. " _Zun -_ "

"No time for last prayers, kid!" Deeja grins and lowers her body, preparing to sprint ahead. Then -

" _Haal!_ "

The word explodes between Aeryn's lips, shifts the air into a shockwave that slams against the hull, and knocks flipped chairs and tables against the walls. Argis catches himself on the doorframe as he staggers backward, both from the sudden pang and from witnessing the daggers get snatched from Deeja's hands, as if the air took a physical form and pulled them out of her grasp. Speechless, his gaze follows the blades as they twirl across the room until Aeryn elegantly grabs them. The hair stands on his arms. A _Shout_. He witnessed a _Shout_.

"I'd fucking dare you to mock again," Aeryn growls. He gives a light toss to one dagger, catching it after it does a full flip in the air, takes a second to weigh it in his hand.

Deeja's face falls into shock, her eyes widening. " _You..._ "

A grin spreads across Aeryn's lips, but it doesn't reach the darkness in his eyes. "I'd offer you an autograph, but it would be a waste of good paper. So, what are you waiting for, you fucking snake? Come kill me!"

When Deeja doesn't immediately make the first move, Aeryn launches himself at her, and Argis can barely make out what is happening. Deeja swiftly evades Aeryn's aggressive attacks while pulling out a third dagger from her boot, and they swirl across the floor in a deadly dance. The Argonian is no joke; her blade slashes and stabs at the weak spots of Aeryn's armor, while Aeryn barely gets one hit in, his greatest advantage being his quick feet. Argis hand clenches around his sword, waiting anxiously for the first sign that Aeryn is going down to dash in and pierce the Argonian up on the wall. Thankfully, he doesn't have to, when Aeryn tricks her with a side-step and lashes the dagger out, catching her across the throat.

Deeja gasps and drops her blade to grip the bleeding wound, and Aeryn doesn't spare her a second before sweeping a leg across the floor, the back of her head hitting the floor with a terrific thud.

"It was supposed to be a shipwreck!" Aeryn roars and throws the daggers aside before kicking her in the ribs. "Just a shipwreck! I was promised!"

"S - stupid kid," Deeja gasps, blood pooling around her, seeping down between the floorboards. "T - too... Gullible..."

" **Shut up!** "

Aeryn lifts his foot and places it down onto Deeja's throat, who cries a gurgling noise and claws at his leg. "You tricked me! You and your fucking piece-of-shit-brother!" Deeja punches at his foot and frantically wriggles, and Aeryn leans more weight onto her throat, face contorted in anger. Blood drips down his fingertips. "No one was supposed to get killed!"

The Argonian tries to speak, but only a ragged gasp makes it past her lips. If it wasn't for the immense blood loss, she'd likely be able to shove Aeryn aside, but the puddle grows, and her dark green scales pales. Aeryn then lifts his foot and stamps it back down. Again, and again, and again.

Apparently, there are still sides of Aeryn that Argis is yet to have seen, and this is one he hadn't expected. He's seen the fluttering eyelashes and coy smiles, the flashes of anger, the dull, lifeless gaze, the mischievous grins, and cocky smirks, all that comes and goes within the blink of an eye. Complicated. Argis might go as far as calling him an emotional mess. Seeing him like this, though, consumed by rage and mindlessly decapitating the woman's head with his foot, brings with it a concern of how many other anger-induces emotions he might carry behind gloom and bitterness.

He winces at the obscene _crack_ when Deeja's spine snaps under Aeryn's foot, her neck a gruesome sludge splashing up his black boot. There's a twang of guilt in his chest for assuming that Aeryn willingly took part in this massacre, but how couldn't he? He _did_ put out the lighthouse and cause the wreck in the first place. And who were they rescuing?

"Aeryn," he calls and sheats his sword, groaning at the sting in his shoulder. That's going to need a few days to heal. "Aeryn, she's dead."

It doesn't come through, and by now, the elf is making wine. "Aeryn?" he calls louder, then proceeds to walk across the room, glancing at the gory mess before placing a hand on Aeryn's shoulder. His palm barely touches the leather before the elf swings around and beats his arm away, facing him with flushes cheeks, swollen, dark eyes, and curled lip. Argis jerks, then blinks, his stomach knotting at the devastated expression.

"Don't fucking _touch me_!" he yells, voice cracking up, and moves out of reach. Argis holds a palm up and takes a step back. Ysmir, how far is he from shattering under all of these emotions? What more needs to happen before he collapses and the dam bursts?

Aeryn's breathing is hard and ragged, and he turns away, blocks Argis from whatever storm is raging inside, and Argis makes out him rubbing his chest. That blow from earlier must've knocked the life out of him.

A couple of silent minutes pass, all but the distant sound of waves breaking against the hull and Aeryn's harsh breathing. Then, the elf's posture relaxes a little, and he starts giving attention to the many wounds. They seem shallow enough not to bleed him dry, but some of them are still bleeding nonetheless. Searching his belt, he comes up empty, as his remaining bottles smashed against the wall, and Argis takes the cue to step in and walks up behind him.

"Here," he says and undoes one of his two remaining potions from his belt, then holds it out past Aeryn's arm to show it. The elf smells of salt and wet leather. "Take one of mine."

"I don't want your shit," Aeryn mutters hoarsely and turns his head away. Argis rolls his eye. _Bla bla, don't need your help, bla bla, I'm fine and invincible._ Sweet mercy.

"Your fragile ego does you no good, Aeryn. Just take it." He shakes the bottle a little, waits, then sighs when the elf folds his arms. He rounds the tiny man. "Aeryn, please, just - "

Argis stops. The elf's flushed cheeks have paled to gray, and the anger has been exchanged for utter exhaustion. Exhaling slowly, Argis holds the potion out again, almost pushes it against the tightly crossed, bloodied arms. The elf rocks a little to the side, then steadies himself. The adrenaline must've left him by now. "Aeryn, _please_ , just drink it? You're going to faint. You can be all independent and proud once we get out of here."

Aeryn opens his mouth with an inhale, eyes averted, but doesn't say anything. Hesitantly, he turns his head to look at the bottle, his shoulders dropping when he finally unwraps his arms and grabs it. Argis takes a step away when Aeryn downs the oily substance, making a face when swallowing, and holds the empty bottle out with a huff, barely waiting for Argis to grab it before letting go.

While the cuts slowly close, strings of tissue entwining with a faint glow, Aeryn turns toward Deeja's body, eyebrows knitting together. With a low groan, he steps closer and squats down to search her pockets. Argis puts the empty bottle away. "So, what now?"

"Now, I'm going to find Jaree-Ra, skin him alive and make a necklace out of his teeth," Aeryn mutters and pulls a folded piece of paper out from a pocket. "Then, I'm going to take a nap." He reads the note and turns to glance at Argis over his shoulder. "And it looks like luck is on my side." He holds it up. "I know exactly where the fucker is."

Grabbing and tucking away a small purse, Aeryn struggles back up and takes a long step over Deeja's body, stopping to pick his bow up with a groan and presses his hand to his chest. Hopefully, it's only a matter of bruising by now.

"And where are we going, exactly?"

"South," Aeryn says and strides out of the room, leaving Argis to hurry after him.

Well, that doesn't narrow it down at all, does it?


	9. Cloak and veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While keeping up a pace is good and all, there's something concerning about the way Aeryn never stops to take a break. Or a breath. Though suddenly, he's breathing way to hard, and Argis find himself in a dilemma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A 'short' in-between that turned out to be longer than I planned, but here we are. Then it's back to chaos and fighting.
> 
> Edits; typos and grammar, many thanks to Eman for helping me out!

Once they get out of the ship, Aeryn moves like a blur, retrieving arrows from the fallen marauders, leaving the soldiers and the crew untouched. Out of guilt, perhaps? Aeryn likely won't answer if Argis asked.

With the Blackblood's eliminated, the beach is eerily quiet, all except for the hard winds whistling overhead as it swoops down and rustles the hair and clothes of the dead as if Arkay himself comes to carry their souls on through the cycle of death. Like the remnants of a battlefield.

Argis closes his eye and sighs. This isn't what he had in mind when dreaming about traveling by the Dragonborn's side. It may have been unrealistic to imagine all wonders, exploration, and glory, a bit romantic, perhaps, but standing in the middle of a slaughter that's caused by _the_ Dragonborn, willingly or not, is a needle to his bubble of heroism. A faint clinking captures his attention.

Across the beach, Aeryn is rummaging through a makeshift camp, digging through crates and chests. Argis' lips flatten. How many situations like these has he gone through alone? Getting wounded without someone aiding him, having no backup, no one to talk to, no support? Probably far too many if he's been wandering Skyrim by himself for so long; maybe he was alone before crossing the border as well.

And now; all this. Aiding the Blackblood Marauders to wreck a ship against the shore after being promised that no one would get hurt, that all he had to do was put out the light and then collect a reward, rescuing someone in the process. Who, though?

Argis rubs sweat and blood off his forehead and makes his way across the beach, muttering a prayer for the poor sods as he steps over and around their bodies, coming to a stop when he reaches the small camp. Aeryn is going through a crate with bottles in different sizes and shapes. 

"How are you holding up?"

"Fine," Aeryn mutters, focusing on reading each bottle's different labels and puts some aside, the rest back. Wine. "Just fine."

"Are you going to say that every time I ask?" He sighs when Aeryn ignores him. "I can tell that you're lying." An absent "mhm" sounds from the elf as he uncorks a bottle and gives it a sniff, then turns it against his lips. Argis' stomach twists. "You know that's not going to help, right?"

"I don't recall asking about your opinion, _Housecarl_ ," Aeryn says and plugs the cork back, then gets up and shoots him a tired glare. "I sure as fuck don't want it."

Argis would make more progress trying to talk down a wall. He pinches the bridge of his crooked nose. "Well, you're obviously not 'fine', no matter what you say." He gestures toward the ship. "Weren't you just double-crossed and turned responsible for this massacre?" 

Aeryn scoffs. "Oh, was I? Fuck, I must've forgotten, _thank you_ for reminding me." He gets up, cradling three bottles in one arm, and scowls as he passes the Nord toward their horses. Argis follows.

"I - That's not what I meant. I mean that no one could possibly be 'fine' after this." His lips flatten when Aeryn gulps down the rest of the wine and discards the bottle near one of the corpses. "Don't you want to talk about it?"

"Nope. There's nothing to say."

"Aren't you feeling hurt? Disappointed? They deceived you, right? You'll only get worse if you keep burying everything - "

Aeryn swings around, eyes narrowed to slits, and Argis halts. "How about you take your things and return to your precious home and get yourself a woman and a couple of kids, hm?" There's a stiff smile on his lips. "Since you've got this fucking hankering to mother me, you'd do better getting a bunch of proper children to teach these _values of life_ than pestering me each fucking day."

What, he isn't that intrusive, right? He's merely trying to help to get the weight of guilt and stress of Aeryn's chest! He's the one being too stubborn about all this. And, well, yes, the thought of settling down has crossed his mind on several occasions, but the time for that isn't now. Also, he'd never run and wed the first best person in order to have his own family. Despite what people might think of him, he's picky.

"Was it your mother who taught you to bury all your emotions while numbing your mind with cheap wine?"

Aeryn's eyes widen a little, and he bites the inside of his lip, glares before averting his eyes, then turns on his heel and stalks across the beach to his horse.

"Great," Argis mumbles and pulls his glove off to scratch the back of his head. How much is it going to take to break down that thick layer of silence and denial?

-

During the first day that they continue on south, Argis notices something that differs from usual; Aeryn never slows down. Now, he's never seen the elf relax, as in, sit and do nothing, but there's a borderline frantic sense to his every action. While on horseback, he's either sipping from bottles and a pocket flask that Argis knows isn't water, or he's reading through bounties or double-checking the map whenever he isn't keeping his eyes out for hostiles. The first night at camp, after coming back from hunting, he prepares dinner, dehairs and treats pelts from the rabbits he caught and replaces pieces of his bedroll, then rewrites the inventory that was ruined by ink the night before, then patches his armor while shivering wrapped up in his bedroll. After that, he sifts the Atronach ashes and collects the pure salt in a jar, and when Argis goes to sleep, he's going through some of the things he keeps in Frost's saddlebags, creating a new inventory.

Same thing the following morning; from the second Aeryn wakes up, he's busy. Eating breakfast, then packing items in a specific order, cleaning his dishes, organizing his arrows while waiting to leave. Not once does Argis see him just sitting down. He's always out and about, but he's never been _this_ restless before.

That night, after setting up camp, and once Aeryn returns from his hunt, not that they needed more food, but he made up an excuse to go anyway, something odd catches Argis' eye while the elf is plucking feathers from a pheasant. He's in his usual spot in the tent entrance, sticking close to the flames, and while Argis marvels over the impressive skills from slightly across the fire, there's a slight tremble in the elf's hands.

Now, it's hardly unusual to see Aeryn shivering, but he's always steady on his hands whenever he's working with something. Be it mixing up new potions or repairing his clothes, he's focused enough to keep from trembling even when not using gloves.

Argis squints, and yes, they are shaking, and it's getting worse by the seconds, so bad he stops plucking feathers. Lifting his gaze, Aeryn's face has paled, and a thin sheet of sweat glistens across his forehead.

"Are you alright?" he asks and tilts his head to try and catch the elf's eyes, but they are firmly set on the bird. Could he be drunk? No, Argis would've noticed earlier. He's never seen him drunk, but it should be more obvious than this, right? Could he be sick to his stomach? Dizzy? Lack of sleep?

"Yeah," Aeryn replies, sounding winded. Argis concern grows when the elf's chest starts heaving. Does he have a fever? Aeryn then struggles up on his feet, faltering and catching himself on a tree just nearby. Panic kicks off inside Argis' body, and he's up, reaching for the elf, who waves him off. Argis clenches his fists. "It - it's fine, I just... I need a moment."

"Are you feeling ill? Please, tell me what's wrong. I can't help you if -"

"Gods, j - ... Just shut up," Aeryn pants, one hand clutching his chest, the other holding him steady as he starts moving away from the fire, grasping for birch trunks on the way. "I'll... I'll be right - right back."

"Woah, no, Aeryn, you're _not_ going anywhere like that!" Argis takes another step, but Aeryn holds his palm up, and his duty forces him to stop while his mind urges him to disobey. He doesn't. "Please, you're not in shape to go off alone!"

Aeryn ignores him, and Argis grits his teeth, frustration twitching in his fingers and stinging in his chest. Hooves crunching in the snow steals his attention, and Frost approaches, follows his master into the dark forest. As if he knows that something's wrong.

"Please, don't shut me out," he whispers into the darkness. His better senses urges him to follow and make sure that the elf is safe, but he can't. It's not a decision for him to make, and it burns in his heart.

He digs his fingers into his scalp. It's not, **not** , his place to get involved. It's not his place to pry, get emotionally invested, or interfere in any way other than keeping the elf safe from physical harm. He's a Housecarl. A Protector. He's serving the Dragonborn with his sword and shield according to the oath he swore. Nothing more.

He exhales heavily. "It's not my place." As if saying it aloud would somehow make the frustration go away. It doesn't. It's never been this complicated before; he's never worked with anyone this complicated before either. If he just _talked_ to him, this wouldn't be so complicated! Why is it so damn hard for him to just -

"Goddammit!" he snaps and kicks a stone into the dark void. He should've gone after him, should be keeping him safe, but no, he isn't allowed to. 

All he can do is pace. He paces back and forth by the fire and glances repeatedly in the direction Aeryn left in. Waiting, listening, wondering, grouching. At least Frost is by his side, which is better than nothing, but Argis still wants to be there, whatever he's going through.

It takes about an hour before the sound of crunching snow breaks the uncomfortable silence, and soon after, Frost appears between the trees, with Aeryn close by. Tension drains from Argis' shoulders and he lets go of the breath he held. Thank the Gods.

He looks the elf over once he approaches, searches for any sign of sickness or pain. Nothing. His face is it's usual cold-bitten red, his steps steady, though he looks exhausted. Without a word, he returns to his spot after grabbing a bottle of brandy, and, as if nothing happened, he continues cleaning the bird. Argis stares at him. What in the world just happened?

"Better...?" he manages through his confusion and slowly sits back down. The elf nods but remains silent, focusing on the bird and pausing only to take a large gulp of liquor now and again. He cuts, cleans, and fries the bird along with some leftover rabbit meat. It's almost hypnotizing to watch him prepare and cook, each moment executed with precision and care. He adds everything to the pot, fries it off and pours in water, then makes himself comfortable with a book while the food takes care of itself, as if nothing happened.

By now, Argis is sure that Aeryn knows he's staring, but the elf doesn't let anything on. Not until a branch snaps somewhere in the darkness behind Argis, followed by rustling, and they both look over, waiting in tense silence for something, or someone, to make their presence known. Nothing.

"Huh. Must've been a deer or something," Argis says and turns back in time to catch a glimpse of Aeryn's face, and worry catches his breath. He looks worn out, eyelids heavy, his cheeks a bit rosy, and his eyes... _Gods._

The brief second Aeryn meets his gaze before he averts it is enough to see the bleary, swollen look, and Argis chest tightens. Has... Has he been _crying_? 

Ysmir, damn this stubborn elf and his stupid pride. Why does it have to be so hard to let him in on what's going on? It's bordering on hopeless, and they've only been on the road for, what, less than two weeks? Maybe Argis got himself to blame for becoming so... Attached? No. Caring? More so. His client's concerns aren't his own, but, with the drinking - 

When Aeryn shivers audibly and tries to cover it up by clearing his throat, Argis' memory kicks in, and he slaps his forehead. _The cloak._

Quickly getting up, he passes Aeryn and crawls in the distance needed to get to his backpack, undoes the drawstrings keeping the bottom together, and pulls the garment out. It's not as soft as the Saber Cat pelt, which honestly, Argis did consider buying for himself, but it's ten times thicker than the pathetic scrap of leather Aeryn wears.

"Here," he says and doesn't give Aeryn time to react before he hangs the cloak over the elf's shoulders. The sudden weight of it causes his back to sag, then he straightens and throws a puzzled glance over his shoulder, meeting Argis soft gaze. "That should help."

For seconds, Aeryn stares at him, lips slightly parted, until he acknowledges the cloak. "I - ... I don't want your clothes," he mumbles and lifts a hand to push it off, pausing when his fingers slide into the thick, soft fur.

"It's not mine. I bought it for you in Solitude. I've forgotten about it several times, though, and I'm sorry. That will do you a lot better than that thin thing you're wearing. Consider it a gift, if you like."

The surprise written on Aeryn's face is almost humorous, as if Argis had just told him he's actually a werewolf. When no words come, Argis grabs the sides of the cloak and wrap them around the elf's sides, almost hugs him from behind, and tucks the warm pelt closer around his body. "There. Now you won't get sick from the cold at least." He then gets up and returns to his spot, tugging his own brown, furry cloak closer around his broad shoulders as the wind picks up.

Aeryn is still gawking, then he looks down at the cloak. Carefully, as if he's afraid to get burned, he runs his fingers through the fur, squeezes it, rubs it between his fingertips. "Why?" He asks at last, puzzled. "I told you I didn't want one."

"Why? Because I knew it was going to be cold, and you're - ..." Argis cuts himself off as he's about to say 'stubborn,' and quickly searches for another word. "... _Unfamiliar_ with these conditions. I knew your clothes weren't enough, and since you've been freezing the entire time, I guess I was right."

"I'm not freezing," Aeryn argues, though there's hardly any spite in his voice. Maybe it is because he's worn out from whatever happened earlier that keeps him from freaking out and yell about how he's capable of taking care of himself, that he doesn't want Argis gifts or his concern like the Nord expected him to. He prepared for a fight, already knew what to say, so when Aeryn mindlessly picks at the fur instead of lashing out is... Confusing. Though, Argis can't say it's a bad outcome. Just an unusual one. A preferable one, even.

"You're constantly shivering, Aeryn," Argis says softly. "And since you're always keeping a high tempo, falling ill would probably be a rough setback. You're intent on getting payback for the ship, and catching a fever will put a halt to that plan for at least a few days. So, I'd say it's in your greatest interest to stay warm."

Again, there's a moment of silence. Aeryn's eyebrows wrinkle a bit as he chews on the inside of his lip, a contemplative look on his face, then he pokes his tongue against his cheek.

"... I don't like white," he mutters and glances up, showing a displeased pout. Argis stares at him for a second before snorting a chortle. By Ysmir, the Nine, and _all_ that is Sacred, **this guy**. Will he ever be able to keep up?

"Alright, then, my bad," Argis chuckles, shaking his head with an amused smile. "I'll do my best to remember that next time I'm buying you clothes against your will."


	10. Not all wounds bleed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they catch up to Jaree-Ra, Argis gets a crash course in sneaking and he isn't any good at it. At all. Chopping down marauders on the other hand is something he excels at, despite the long time that passed since the old days on the field. And when Oblivion breaks loose, he comes to a realization that makes his stomach turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bring a snack; it's a long one.

Despite not showing any gratitude, other than using the fur as a blanket for the night, Aeryn wears the white cloak the following day when they mount their horses for the, hopefully, final ride until they reach their destination. While it's a bit too big for him, it's perfect for the harsh winds that keeps pulling in from the sea, and Argis smiles to himself when the elf looks content. And, most importantly, isn't shivering.

-

By the time Aeryn slows Frost down to a stop, it's late afternoon. They've been slowly climbing the last hour, following a slithering old path to one of the many mountain tops. From up here, it's possible to make out the rooftops of Morthal. Further up ahead, a broken tower peeks above the tree lines. "That's the place?" Argis asks as he dismounts.

"Yeah."

"So." He turns to Aeryn, who's already put his backpack down and is busy undoing the massive piece of fur. "How do you usually go about a place like this?"

"A fort? Uh, I just... Do my thing," Aeryn replies evasively and folds his cloak, carefully tucking it in between the straps on his backpack. Argis rolls his eye.

"And what's that then?"

"Look, I just..." Aeryn sighs and shows a half-smile. "I have my way? That place is probably filled with traps and mages and archers, and I get if that's not your thing - "

"You're **not** keeping me out of this one," Argis interjects, dropping his backpack to the ground before crossing his arms. "You said it yourself several times; you brought me along to fight. Now, you bring me along and let me fight."

Aeryn's mouth opens and closes before he bites the inside of his lower lip. "Yeah, I know I said that." He looks away, combing fingers through his hair, muttering, "Fuck, why did I let you convince me?"

Argis waits. He's not going to give in this time, and by the defeated look on Aeryn's face, he'd guess that the elf has realized as much.

"Look, I'm just not used to having people around, okay? I've been clearing out places alone for months, I don't - ... I don't know how to, ah..." He helplessly waves his hand around.

"How to cooperate?"

"... Something like that."

Argis sighs. "Look, Aeryn, I understand that you prefer doing things alone because you've got your style and your way. But I'm no novice. I'm trained in battle tactics, and I've spent more years fighting than not. Sure, I haven't taken on a fort or a ruin, but I know how to fend for myself and keep others safe. It's my _job_."

"Gods, I know that it's your job. You've told me a hundred times," Aeryn complains. "It's just easier for me to do it myself. I already know what to do."

"So teach me then! Teach me your tactics, and I'll be of help instead of being in your way."

A long pause follows as Aeryn is studying Argis, contemplates. Then, he exhales. "Fine. You've got **one** chance of understanding everything I'm about to tell you. Don't, and you're waiting outside, or I'll use you as bait. Clear?"

Argis smirks. "Clear."

What Aeryn explains in the following minutes isn't anything remotely strange or complicated, though Argis can see how his style isn't suitable for more than one person; crawling in shadows and killing from a distance. For Argis to be of use until a potential melee fight breaks out, he'll need to keep his feet light to not give Aeryn's position away.

"... And, you know, you don't really look like a guy who'd be able to quietly walk on glass," Aeryn adds once he's done explaining. Argis hums.

"Sneaking isn't one of my finer talents, no," he admits, scratching his stubbled cheek. "But hey, if I uncover our position, I'm just as able to take the fight head-on, and that still allows you to keep attacking from afar."

"And if there's a whole fucking heap of them?"

"Then I'll just have to cut them down faster, won't I?" Argis chuckles at Aeryn's snort, then he shrugs. "I'll do my best to stay back and move as quietly as I can, alright? And when things go out of hand, I'll keep them off you. Give me a chance."

"Fine." Aeryn huffs and picks his backpack up, moving it to a nearby tree. "But if your foot gets caught in a trap or you get knocked out, I'm leaving you there." He hoists the backpack up on one shoulder before climbing the old tree, effortlessly moving up the thick branches. "So don't you cry for help if that happens!"

Gods, he's got no faith in him, does he? "Sure, sure." Argis moves closer to watch Aeryn secure his backpack several full heights up the tree before making his way down again, nimble as a squirrel. Before he makes it to the ground, Argis holds his backpack up. "Would you mind?"

Aeryn lands on the lowest branch, face leveling with Argis', and smirks. "What, you can't climb a tree?"

"I wouldn't trust the tree to carry my weight," Argis replies sincerely, ignoring the sneer. "And you're obviously far more talented in climbing than I am. So, would you please help me and put my backpack up there?"

Aeryn's face falls a little, as if he expected, or hoped, for Argis to jab back with some remark. "Fine, whatever," he mutters and moves back up the tree. Argis' grin fades in time for him to come back down. "Alright, time to get ready."

The sun is setting when the two are prepared to take on the fort. With his hood and neck-gaiter pulled up and the exposed skin around his eyes painted black, Aeryn is almost invisible in the shadows of the forest they pass through. Argis keeps a distance, allows the elf to lead the way until he stops in the clearing. He squats down, and Argis does the same, following Aeryn's gaze.

The fort resembles an ancient ruin more than anything. Large chunks of the walls have collapsed on itself, and only one of the towers has a full silhouette. People patrol what remains of the battlement, two guarding the open archway leading to the courtyard. Argis counts to eight in total. "And now?" he whispers.

"We wait for dark," Aeryn replies quietly. Judging by the color of the sky, they won't have to wait long. Argis makes himself comfortable and watches the fort, maps which routes the marauders take along the walls, where the lit torches move. He glances at Aeryn now and again. Despite him shivering at almost any given time, he's currently sitting motionless, so silent Argis can't hear his breathing. How long can he sit like that? Is it some sort of meditative state that Jaqspurs are taught? If he remembers, he'll ask about that later.

Once the sun has set, and the flaming red shroud across the horizon is replaced with light blue, Aeryn signals that it's time to move.

The elf doesn't go very far, staying hidden among the trees when he stops and unhinges his bow. It's hard to make out in the dark, but Aeryn grabs a handful of arrows and nocks one of them. If Argis didn't know Aeryn stood right there, it would be impossible to spot him unless he tripped over him.

The breath Aeryn inhales and holds is inaudible; Argis can just make out that his shoulders square, and as soon as the bowstring is drawn, the arrow is released. Another immediately follows, and both of the guards standing by the valve collapse. Aeryn waits. Listens. Then, he moves.

Stealth has never been one of Argis' skills. He's perfectly crafted to charge head-first into combat, not creeping around in shadows. So, attempting to cross the uneven ground without tripping or making any noise in the dark is a first. And it isn't his forte.

He stumbles over a total of three large rocks and one pair of his own feet on the way to the wall, thankfully without alerting anyone or landing on his face. He'd blame it on his only functioning eye not having the best night vision, and also only having one functioning eye, but the way Aeryn sighs ahead of him is a tell that the elf isn't interested in excuses.

As they close in, Aeryn gestures for him to wait while he peeks around the corner of the valve into the courtyard. Seconds pass, then he loses a total of three arrows in a rapid session.

Wait. Listen. Move.

That's the tactic he uses as he creates a safe passage across the courtyard. Argis uses all his focus to not be responsible for any unwanted attention, only stumbling once that Aeryn hopefully doesn't notice. There is only one large building inside the walls, and Argis keeps his eye out while Aeryn gets down to work on the door. It barely takes him a minute to pick the lock, and then, they're in.

For the first passages of the building, Aeryn uses the same tactic, including putting out torches to better hide in the long corridors. Not that anything but pitch black darkness would help Argis stay out of sight; again, a situation where his size isn't handy. Though, with Aeryn's skills, he feels safe enough. If only he had the same level of trust with his own feet.

On the way, he stumbles and slams his thigh into a table, quickly catching himself on the wall, and freezes up when Aeryn swirls around and glares daggers at him.

He shows an apologetic smile as they hold their breaths while praying that Aeryn doesn't shoot him himself. He'd understand if he did. 

There's a murmur of voices from an adjoining room, followed by the sound of a door opening, and Aeryn frantically waves at Argis to back away. He does, quietly this time, and the second a person appears in the doorway into the storage room they are currently in, they get an arrow straight in the chest.

Wait. Listen. **Scowl**. Move.

They move down a level, then another. Aeryn effortlessly works his way through each room, silently killing off one marauder after another before they get a chance to notice anything strange going on, collecting his arrows as he goes. Argis tries to keep his eye on the floor to look out for traps and uneven stones while simultaneously looking out for enemies. He doesn't get how Aeryn does it, but then again, he's been at this for some time. Argis can only hope that he'll get a bit better at this in the future.

As they pass through a door on the third level, which is surprisingly deep for a fort, Argis inhales a strong scent of salt and worn wood. The walls of stacked stones and mortar are replaced with rugged, protruding raw mountain, and the stone floor replaced with compact dirt.

Voices and laughter echoes from somewhere below. Argis follows Aeryn up to the edge of the path and bites down a gasp.

They've entered an enormous, water-filled cave with miles from wall to wall and surface to ceiling. Long, spear-like stalactites loom over them, threatening to pierce what or whoever happens to stand beneath, should one decide to fall. And far down below, hidden away from the world, rests a large ship, more broken than not, anchored to the cave with the help of scaffolding and ropes.

"That's... That's... Wow," Argis mouths as he's taking in the sight. Never in his life has he come across anything resembling this, and he marvels at the scenery until Aeryn has disappeared from his side and hurries after him.

The path doesn't lead all the way down to the ship straight away; instead, it leads them to a set of cut out rooms and hallways. And more marauders. Wasn't this place supposed to be inhabited by necromancers?

With space quickly narrowing, Aeryn spends more time scanning and waiting before taking any action as he approaches a new area. Pushing open doors so slowly, a snail would have plenty of time passing by before he can peer through the slim slit. Waiting motionlessly for minutes until he can take someone down without being noticed. 

The wait makes Argis antsy. But, this is Aeryn's mission, and the elf isn't dressed to be able to stand getting beaten with swords. Not that _that's_ ever stopped him before.

Once he clears the room, they move across it into a wide, low hallway where Argis hit his head on any protruding rocks, twice, biting down curses each time. Aeryn is just up ahead, suddenly stopping. Argis slowly closes in, listening intently for whatever made the elf stop.

Voices echo from further down the hallway, and Aeryn grabs him by his armor and pulls him over to the side. Once the Nord finds his balance, they are pushed up against the rough cave wall, chest to chest, bodies barely hidden from sight should someone walk by from left. From the right? They're screwed. 

The voices grow louder, and Argis turns inward, focuses on keeping still. As he slowly inhales, a sweet whiff of lilacs cuts through the fusty air. Huh. Is it something Aeryn is wearing? The scent is still there for the next inhales, so yes, it must be. Either one of his hundreds of ointments or maybe something for his hair? It's pleasant, either way.

_"... And I find it worrying that we haven't heard any news from Deeja yet."_

_"There's no need to worry about it, captain. I'm sure she's busy burying that brainless elf somewhere dark and deep. Besides, we have the treasure here already. It's just a matter of cleaning up now."_

"Jaree-Ra," Aeryn hisses under his breath, tensing up. Ah. So that's the Argonian who set him up from the start. 

_"While that is true, I still find it bothersome. She knows better than to stay out of contact for this long."_

The footsteps stops. _"Please, captain, it's only been a few days. She's fine, I'm sure! She's far too skilled for that wimpy little kid to stand a chance, even if he dared to try anything."_

Aeryn trembles against Argis' chest, his breaths slow but hard, and it'll be nothing short of a miracle if he refrains from throwing himself out into the hallway. He's seen how the elf behaves when he's upset; it'll be the death of both of them. There might be several rooms with bandits joined to the corridor, and if they get swarmed in this tight space, there isn't much more to do than pray. Now, Argis is up for a fight, but not a stupid one, though it seems to be the kind Aeryn prefers.

When Aeryn starts shifting, Argis puts his hand onto his shoulder and gives it a light squeeze, hoping it'll be enough to calm him down. The elf stiffens, breath hitching in his throat, and Argis bites his lip as he gently rubs his thumb over the worn leather. It might be the stupidest thing, but if he can prevent Aeryn from making a dumb decision, he'll try his best.

Though anxious, Argis continues, and to his great relief, the elf's posture relaxes a little beneath his hand.

_"I am still going to tell Satyina to head north and see if she can catch up to her. I won't have this operation go awry, or it might be the end of us. More guards may have arrived to investigate the site by now."_

_"And they'll be taken care of just like the others! Have faith in us, captain, this whole thing is soon history, and we can enjoy the riches."_

_"Hmm, I do hope so, Jaree-Ra, I do hope. Now, I'm going to find Satyina. You go back to the ship and ensure that those filthy thieves keep their hands off the valuables."_

_"Ay, ay, captain."_

The footsteps part ways, one pair moving away from them, and the other closing in. Argis tries to melt together with the wall, holds his breath as the footsteps come just around the corner. A figure appears and, thank the Gods, continues past them. It's the Argonian. He walks down the hallway and off into an area they haven't cleared out.

Aeryn exhales and steps out into the flickering light, looking up and down the hallway, then turns to Argis. He points at him, then down the way the captain disappeared, and drags a finger across his throat. That's about all the information Argis needs. He nods, despite disliking the idea of leaving Aeryn alone, though grateful to finally have a part to play, and he can play it out in his own way.

So, when Aeryn disappears to the right, Argis quietly moves down the left and follows the memory of the footsteps down a narrow hallway, hissing as he scrapes his forehead on a sharp rock sticking out of the ceiling. "Get a grip!" he mutters, continuing to scold himself mentally while straining his ears. Nothing.

He continues down the hallway - it's more of a tunnel, really - as it comes to an end, light and voices seep through the chink under a door. With nowhere else to go, this must be the place the man disappeared to. With a few others at his side, from the sound of it.

After making sure that the door opens inward, Argis slowly unsheathes his sword, gives his shield-arm a few rolls, then gathers strength with a deep breath before lifting his foot and driving his heel into the door. The old thing smashes open and rips off the upper hinge, startling a group of half-dozen people to scramble to their feet. Seems he crashed a leisurely late-night drinking session.

"Sorry for interrupting." He grins and tightens his fist around the hilt, already closing in on the first best person to thrust his sword through their poor choice of armor.

-

It's been a long time since Argis had a proper fight, the sort of fight that might end up with him dying if he isn't careful. While wearing a good set of armor and a sturdy shield goes a long way, fending off and a group of people who don't take turns will cause injuries.

Adrenaline is still rushing through Argis' veins when he drags his feet over a fallen marauder to raise a knocked-over chair off the floor and drops onto it with a thud. His hammering pulse drowns out the room, and he sits for a while, tries to regain his breath while sweat runs down his face, dripping off his jaw.

"Nothing like the courtyard," he mumbles between rasping gasps, supporting his forearms on his knees before dropping his head down between them. 

His right arm throbs from wrist to the back of his shoulder, muscles screaming from the sudden overuse. The captain had been a challenge; that Nord hadn't been far off his own size and, while being a handful years older, put up more of a fight than Argis expected. He needs to put in more time practicing while they are on the road to stop these kinds of injuries from crippling him; he was close to seriously damage his shoulder back on the beach. The last thing he needs is a torn muscle.

Speaking of injuries. The health potion is still working its magic to close up the wound from the dagger he took to the side, as well as the deep gash across his cheek and the smaller cuts across his face and lips. He'll need to look his armor over later and get any damages fixed. Perhaps Aeryn can help him if anything needs to be sewn.

While still recovering, he gets up with a weary groan and walks over to the bar, grabs a cloth from behind it, and rubs the worst of the sweat and blood off his face. After a couple of deep breaths, he sips his stamina potion, skin prickling as the green liquid sends sparks of energy through his veins. "Alright, time to go."

He pushes sticky strands of honey-blond hair out of his face before making his way back across the room. His heart is still pounding, but he needs to make sure that Aeryn is alright. And alive.

"Thanks for the fight," he says, placing a foot on the captain's torso before grabbing the hilt of his sword, then yanks it out of the man's chest with a grunt. "May you win many glorious battles in Sovngarde."

His lungs are still burning when he leaves the room, and backtracks through the hallway, taking a turn where the Argonian had disappeared. Before long, he comes across corpses, and he follows them through another set of small rooms until he reaches the other side of the enormous open cave. Below him is the ship, and it's eerily quiet.

Argis hurries across the bridge to the scaffolding while looking out for Aeryn and potential attackers, not spotting the elf anywhere around the ship from his vantage point. "Come on, you should be here," he mumbles as he descends the many ramps.

Once on the deck, Argis spots the Argonian. Not skinned as Aeryn promised, which would've been nightmare fuel, but he's dead alright. On a closer look, his throat has been slit open and, judging by the amount of blood he's lying in and lack of arrows, Aeryn likely bled him to death. Damn. The elf might be small, but he's obviously capable of gruesome murder. Maybe those death-threats aren't as empty as he thought?

Looking around the deck and other levels of platforms, Argis doesn't spot anything other than a couple of corpses, none of them Aeryn's. The more he searches, the larger the lump of ice grows in his stomach. Dammit, they shouldn't have parted ways.

Spotting Aeryn's bow at the edge of the lowest level of scaffolding makes his heart drop.

"Oh, no, no, no, no." 

A twang of panic hits him as he rushes down, eye darting around the area in search of the elf. _Nothing._ Gods, could he have fallen over into the water during the fight? Had he been hurt enough to drown? Or killed, then thrown into the deep? But, there isn't anyone alive around, so how -

The splash makes Argis jump and he raises his sword, only to find himself staring dumbfounded at Aeryn. The elf emerges from the water, dragging heavy feet up a ramp that disappears below the surface. It takes seconds before relief floods Argis' body, and he exhales audibly as he sheaths his sword. "Mara's mercy, I thought they'd gotten you."

"Nah, I'm good." Aeryn shrugs, appearing as unfazed as usual, and cards fingers through his wet hair while walking over. Most of the paint has washed off, leaving messy stripes and dots of black across his face. He looks exhausted, eyes slightly hooded and shoulders sloping. "They always make a fuss about keeping their stash out of reach so, I had to do some diving."

Argis blinks and looks out across the water. He frowns. "How did you know?"

"Well." Aeryn sniffs and drags his hand across his face, smearing the remaining paint further. "Turns out, most bandits are stupid enough to mention important secrets in documents. Like, complain to another about how the leader keeps valuables in a sunken chest."

"You're joking?"

"Nope."

A hum vibrates in Argis' throat. Are people really that stupid? Amazing. Then, he turns back to look Aeryn over. "Did you find something of value, then?"

"I found an amulet and some coins," the elf tells him and holds up said items, taking a closer look at the necklace. Water still pours from the pouch of money. "I'll have to find someone to ask what the amulet does; if it does anything. It's quite pretty, though."

"Alright," Argis nods, ignoring the golden gleam of the amulet to inspect the elf. "Did you get hurt?"

"Got shot, _again_ , but it's alright now," Aeryn replies nonchalantly and moves past Argis to pick his bow up. That's when the Nord notices that his quiver is lying beside it, hidden in the shadow of the scaffolding. "Didn't smash my bottles this time. Shoulders' a bit worn, but that takes care of itself."

"Alright, good to hear. So, how does it feel?"

Aeryn shoots him a puzzled frown. "I just told you?"

"No, you told me about physical injuries," Argis corrects matter-of-factly. "I'm asking about how you feel, now that the Argonian is dead."

"What? Why would you ask about that?"

"You've been eager to get revenge, right?" Argis asks as he moves to half-sit on the railing around the platform, crossing his arms. As his pulse has finally calmed, fatigue catches on, despite the stamina kick. He'd kill for a steak and a few hours of sleep. "Do you feel relieved?"

There's a pause where Aeryn scratches the back of his neck, looking lost. As if he either doesn't know how he's feeling or never have gotten the question before. "Err, I - uh. Why do you ask?"

"Because I want to make sure that you are feeling alright."

Again, there's a pause, and Aeryn squints at him. "Why?"

A part of Argis finds the elf's skepticism, or caution, laughable, as he can't understand how the answer isn't apparent. The other part knows that Aeryn is adamant about keeping people away, which means he's got to be patient if he wants to make any progress in getting to know him better. And gain a speck of trust. "Because I care about how you feel."

What comes out of Aeryn's mouth isn't a word; it's more of a choked off squawk, and his eyes shoot up. "That's - What? Don't be an idiot; I don't need you to care about my feelings!" The elf spits, already lighting up. Argis sighs. Here we go. "Keep your stupid fucking - ... _Whatever_ to yourself!"

"Ysmir's beard, Aeryn." Argis exhales, tilting his head to the side as he offers a crooked smile. "I'm only interested in knowing that you are doing okay. Is it really that difficult for you to accept that I care?"

It's hard to tell in this light, but he's quite sure Aeryn's already worked up a flush of anger on his face. Sure sounds like it when he goes on. "Not as difficult as it is to get you off my fucking back! Yffre's ass, could you knock it off? I don't need your patronizing bullshit!"

The comment hits Argis in the stomach. "Patronizing? Is that how I come across?"

" _Yes!_ " Aeryn yells, his voice coming up to an unpleasant shrill that bounces off the walls. Argis prays there aren't any marauders left, because, if there are, they're probably rushing their way right now. "I don't want your damn pitying! Could you just stop acting like you give a shit?"

"Aeryn, I'm **not** acting," Argis assures him, annoyance stirring up. He's tired, hungry, injured, and not in a mood to be accused of being insincere. "I don't know what kind of people you've met, but I am not two-faced."

"Yeah, _sure_ , I bet you're all pure with your constant yapping about 'honor' and 'oaths,'" Aeryn jeers, snorting as he walks up the ramp leading to the ship's deck. Argis sucks in a breath so sharp it makes his chest hurt and slides off the railing.

"Do **not** make fun of my morality," Argis warns, fighting to keep his tone in check. "Think what you like about my person, but you keep my honor **out of it**."

"Or else what?" Aeryn spins around and throws his arms out, glaring at Argis when he stops an arm-length away. "You'll leave? Great! Go ahead! Be my fucking guest!"

"Goddammit, Aeryn, why are you so bent on pushing everyone away? Can't you understand that not everyone is out to hurt you?"

"Oh, I'm fucking sorry, did you just pretend that you know me?"

"Stop acting like you're some sort of mystery. It's harder to see through a window than through you!"

Aeryn barks a mocking laugh. "Oh, fuck off, would you? What are you, some sort of seer who's wasted their talent pacing around the Jarl like a _dog_?"

Blood rushes in Argis' ears, and he's losing the battle with his inner voice that begs him to calm down. He knows that all Aeryn is trying to do is mess with him, trying to trigger his anger. Gods, it's working, though. "I don't need to be a damn seer to read misery and pain in you," he rumbles, jaw clenching. "And I'm **not a dog.** "

"You fool me damn good," Aeryn mutter acidly, eyes shimmering with hate, then turns away to leave. "Just leave me alone. Idiot."

**That** does it. Argis' gaze darkens, and that last, thin string of control snaps. He can deal with the childish behaviors, the anger, and the stubbornness, but he's not dealing with this sort of degradation. He slams a hand onto Aeryn's shoulder, and the elf's posture slopes under the sudden weight, causing him to stumble to a halt. "What the fuck - !"

"You **do not** talk to me like that!" Argis bawls, veins aflame. "I don't care where you - !"

"Don't touch me!" Aeryn cries and writhes like a wounded snake to escape Argis' grip, dropping everything to try and pry the large hand off, to no avail. The Nord spins him around and grasps both his shoulders, bending over to get their faces at the same level. He can hear the wet leather creak under the pressure of his fingers and ignores Aeryn's screaming and punching.

"I **don't care** where you come from, you have **no right** \- !"

Argis gets cut off when a pang of pain explodes in his face, and he shoves Aeryn away to cover his mouth, staggering backward. "Gods!" he groans into his palm, gasping as he suddenly can't breathe through his throbbing nose. Removing his hand, it's covered in blood; blood that streams down his face, between his parted lips, and drips to the floor from his chin.

Moments pass where Argis stares nonplussed at his hand, and drops of blood landing in his palm. Did Aeryn just headbutt him...? Anger spikes again and pushes aside the shock, but when he glares up at Aeryn, he isn't expecting a look of pure dread on his face. He's hunched over, backed up by the taffrail, face blanched and eyes wide, grasping the old wood behind him with white knuckles. 

Blinking, Argis' fury melts like snow over fire, and his chest fills with dismay. _Oh, no_. Of course. That's why Aeryn always freaked out whenever he grabbed him.

For a minute or so, the two stare at each other. Aeryn seems frozen to the spot, chest heaving, and a hard knot twists Argis' gut. It makes so much sense.

"I'm so sorry," Argis gasps, breaking through his paralyzing insight. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Aeryn flinches. "I - I wasn't... That's, ah... I -"

"I didn't realize that - ..." Argis licks blood off his lips, distress pouring into his voice. " - That someone has forced you - Has... held you against your w - Gods, I'm so, so sorry."

Aeryn's eyes widen further in panic, and he looks away while fiddling with his fingers. "T - that's not, I - I, ah, I didn't - "

Argis holds a palm up. "It's fine, Aeryn, there's no - You don't need to... Say anything. I just... I - I'm sorry."

It doesn't matter what happened or why. The look on Aeryn's face tells enough of a story for Argis to understand that whatever it might be, the memory caused him pain. A lot of it. **Shit.** If only the elf had mentioned it earlier, then this wouldn't have happened! How could he have been so stupid not to see this before? Each time he'd gotten even close to laying a hand on Aeryn, he'd always step away, and when he actually managed to touch him, he lashed out. He had looked terrified back in Markarth, the day they left, when Argis pushed him up against the bookcase, hadn't he? And what about just earlier when he tried to calm him down in the hallway, had that been just as traumatic?

By the Nine, he's such an idiot. It's been so obvious all this time!

"I'll just... Get cleaned up, and then we'll, um, secure an area for you to get dry?" Argis suggests after a long pause. They need rest, and food, and Aeryn is still dripping wet. 

Aeryn's lips part with a sharp inhale, but he doesn't say anything. He then gives a slight nod, looking everywhere but at Argis, and slowly gets down to pick his things back up.

Feeling slightly dizzy from the blow, Argis carefully returns to the lowest platform and gets down on one knee to reach the water. He rinses the blood off his swollen face, tries to blow most of it out of his nose but gives up when the pain is too sharp. As he touches his mouth, his lower lip has been split. Again. Gods. Sleep. He needs sleep.

After cleaning up the best he can, Argis gets up and sighs, closing his eye for a moment. If he'd only known. Dammit. He drinks half of another healing potion, hoping it'll stop the bleeding. At least his nose doesn't seem broken, as far as he can tell.

"That'll do," he murmurs and tries to think of an area or a room that might be suited to block off and rest in as he walks back to the deck. He opens his mouth to ask Aeryn if he's got any idea, only to find that he's gone. Argis groans. Great.

Just _great_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear on the height differences between these two dorks, Argis is 195cm / 6'4" and Aeryn is 155cm / 5'1". This is about the same height difference as Jason Momoa and his wife Lisa Bonet; https://heckyeaweloveinterracialcouples.tumblr.com/post/130317987304/ofmicnmen-aggienes
> 
> I'm aware that there are many different opinions and theories about the different heights of the beings of Tamriel, and I'm basing it on what I think suits my fic the most. Aeryn is an angry lil bean and Argis is a (mostly) gentle giant.
> 
> Also, I merged Broken Oar Grotto with Fort Snowhawk and completely made up the exterior and the layout to better suit the story.


	11. Stairs of despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life hasn't been easy on Aeryn for a long time now, but Argis seem bent on making everything worse. At least, that's what Aeryn thinks, because why else would he be forced to face facts he hates if the Nord didn't want to fuck everything up further? And his ego is just the right size, thank you very much.
> 
> I have no idea how this chapter happened, okay? I sat down with an idea in mind, and this is what came out, so here we are, 4110 words later and the main antagonist is a staircase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note to clarify potions;  
> Health potions;
> 
> In-game, the strength of a health potion determines how much health your character restores, and drinking a potion will make everything good and lovely again. In my fic, I've decided to complicate them. So, the general rule of 'minor potion gives minor healing' is the same, but works like this;
> 
> \- Healing potions will only heal broken bones and open injuries, i.e, gashes, cuts, bites, shot-wounds, etc, every type of injury that penetrates the skin.  
> \- This means that healing potions won't heal/ease; muscle strain/pain, headaches, nausea, inflammation/infections, ingrown toenail pain, bruises, etc. (These types of pains can be healed/eased with other means, such as ointments, teas, boo-boo kissing, compresses, etc.)  
> \- The strength and quality of the potion will determine how well, and quickly, the injury will heal.  
> \- The larger the wound, the more potent the potion has to be to properly heal it. Sipping a potent potion will heal small wounds, but downing one minor potion will at most reduce the bleeding of a cut open limb. The same goes for bones; a minor potion will heal a broken toe but is worthless to a couple of broken ribs.  
> \- A good quality potion will taste of chili and too much rosemary, while a poor quality potion will taste of sewer-water (if you're lucky).
> 
> Stamina potions;
> 
> \- Same as with health potions, the potency and quality of the potion will determine how much energy will be restored.  
> \- Stamina potions will only increase physical energy, not mental. (Mental energy can be increased with other means, such as teas, energy-packed fruits and nuts, power-walks through snowstorms, etc.)  
> \- The effect will wear off after some time, the only difference in duration is in the potency of the potion. The user will still need to rest and recover, no matter how many potions they drink.  
> \- A good quality potion will taste of honey and moss, while a poor quality potion will taste of rotten fish.

Should he feel bad? Probably. Alright, he definitely should feel bad, he might've broken the guy's nose, but he doesn't, because it's not his fault. Argis is the one who should feel bad for being such a fucking idiot and not keeping said nose out of other's business. It's not that hard, is it? Just keep to yourself, respect others not wanting your dick in their face and move on! But _no_ , that stupid Nord just has to try and get involved, doesn't he? Going on like he's all clever and observant. Idiot.

He'll tell him, that's for sure. Argis will know precisely what he thinks about him trying to snake his way into his private matters, like his feelings.

Though not right now, because Aeryn can't _breathe_.

Almost there, he encourages himself as he's pausing in the middle of the stairs, one hand pulling at his collar, the other supporting his weight against the wall. His inhales come in short, gasping bursts. Keep it together, you fucking mess.

Cold sweat trickles down his back and further soaks his wet clothes and armor. Shit, why does this have to happen now of all times?

As long as Argis doesn't see him, everything is fine. As long as he can hide away in a corner and regain some pride and dignity, he'll be **just** fine. The last thing Aeryn needs is that big idiot to watch him fall apart. Though... Wouldn't it feel nice to stop pretending for once?

"Shut up!" Aeryn hisses and slaps himself on the side of his head as if it would make the thought fall out of his ear. It doesn't; it only causes him to lose balance and fall forward, slamming his shin into the edge of the step before catching himself. The pang of pain that twists around his throbbing shoulder knocks a yelp out of him and allows him to inhale a few big breaths before his throat tightens again. Yeah, he's a bit sore, alright. He's been aching since the shipwreck, and today's chaos made it worse. Swimming around for that chest didn't help either, and, of course, he's out of potions.

He'd scream if he could. Not only due to the excruciating pain, now with the added sharp stinging from his shin but from all of... _This_. The day started fine, and now everything's gone straight to the Void.

Tears fill his eyes, but he blinks them away, focuses on forcing the overwhelming wave of emotions back into the dark depths of his mind. Keep it together, dammit.

He doesn't need anyone, especially not a thick-headed Nord, to try and fix him with all his caring and talking. There's nothing to fix; he is perfectly fine! He doesn't need _anyone_. "I - I'm fine."

Does saying it out loud help? No, it doesn't ease the panic, but damn if he isn't going to try.

Clenching his jaw to push through, he pulls himself back to his feet, ignores the twang of pain in his thigh. Fuck, out of all things today, he had to be shot as well? If he'd brought a vigorous healing potion, rather than that watered-down shit, he wouldn't be limping now.

It's quiet enough for Aeryn to assume that he's alone on this floor, hoping that there won't be any marauders showing up during the night. It's enough that Argis is around somewhere, though the Nord will have to take care of himself, mainly because Aeryn can't deal with himself right now. And where are these damn necromancers he was supposed to clear out? Gods, nothing makes sense.

Relief pours over him once he stumbles into the wine-cellar. Or, well, 'cellar' might be exaggerated. It's nothing compared to the extensive basements of Mistveil Keep or the Black-Briar Brewery with their rows upon rows of fancy wine and liquor; it's just a dusty storage-room with crooked shelves. But, Aeryn isn't picky. Though, a bottle of Rothmeth would sit better than a dusty old bottle of whatever cheap contraband the marauders have collected throughout the years.

He grabs the first bottle he can reach and doesn't even care about what the label reads. As he tries to pull the cork out, a shockwave of pain shoots through his arm, and he falls against the wall with a pitiful whine. "Oh, come on!" he gasps, slowly losing the fight against resigning to give up and die. Haven't the Gods punished him enough already?

With the help of his teeth, he unplugs the bottle and spits the cork out, briefly sniffing the content before turning the bottle upside-down against his lips. It's some sort of whiskey, a crappy sort judging by the horrid taste, but it's whiskey, nonetheless.

The alcohol burns as it rushes down his throat, leaving an awful aftertaste of acidic smoke, but it puts the trembling in his hands to an end. With few pauses, Aeryn drinks all of it, ignoring the blazing sensation in his chest. It's preferable to the hurricane in his head.

The more sensible part of his brain, the smallest one, knows that this isn't the best long-term solution. Though, honestly, he doesn't know what else to do. Or, well, he's got a clue, but this is faster, and less work.

It takes a few minutes for the strong spirit to kick in, and Aeryn finally relaxes, his heart rate gradually slowing down to normal. He's able to breathe again, and the crushing weight lifts from his chest. Just to be on the safe side, he finds another bottle with some other crappy whiskey that tastes of old saltwater and dirt. He sips his way through this one, resting against the wall while the drink works its magic; blocking out his emotions. 

Now, he can go back to pretending everything is all joy and sunshine.

The amount of alcohol isn't nearly enough to make him straight out drunk, but enough to give that impression of warmth that tricked you into believing you aren't freezing as much - the kind of feeling that gets you killed in the brutal cold of Bruma. 

Using his right, less wrecked arm, Aeryn reaches out and turns some of the other bottles around, searches for something that's remotely tastier to bring along. The sound of heavy footsteps startles him at first, then he sighs. Ugh. Maybe he doesn't know he's here? Ah, no, those steps are definitely closing in. Great. At least he's got his breakdown under control; now all he needs to do is pretend that he doesn't want to drop down and cry from his injuries. 

Casually, Aeryn brings a bottle to his face and reads the label when the faint light seeping into the room from the hallway is blocked out, making it impossible to translate any of the worn letters. He turns his head and cocks an eyebrow in mock surprise.

"There you are." The Nord groans and runs a hand across his face in annoyed relief. "Did you have to disappear like that?"

"I, uh..." Well, yes, because he was about to have a mental breakdown and freak out. He forces a lopsided smile. "... Yeah?"

"Why did - no, you know what, never mind." Damn, he sounds like he's fed up. Progress, at last. "We need a place to rest. Ideas?"

"Well, we passed a kitchen on the middle floor," Aeryn remembers, turning away to focus on the bottle again. Judging by the faint outline of a shield on the label, he assumes it's some sort of mead and puts it back, grabbing a drop-shaped bottle instead. Oh, might be brandy. "Looked like there was only one door, easy to barricade. Bet there's some food there as well."

"Alright. Good call."

Seconds pass while Aeryn keeps staring at the bottle, anxiously waiting for Argis to leave. He doesn't. He peers over his shoulder. "Anything else...?" 

"I figured we'd go together, in case we missed some of the marauders. Or if any shows up."

Well, well, look at that, the Nord's being all smart and shit. "I see. I'll catch up to you in a second? I just want to find something worth drinking in here."

While Aeryn can't see Argis' face very well, he can tell by how his shoulders square that he isn't approving. The strain in his voice gives a clue to that as well. "I can wait."

"... Of course you can," Aeryn mumbles and carefully shifts his weight to his left leg, which's only stinging and not throbbing. Shit, he can't escape this one, can he? If he hadn't been out of stamina potions, that would have come in handy right now. "Give me a second." 

The minutes Aeryn pours over the bottles are only meant to help him come up with some excuse to make Argis move ahead, but what could he possibly say? "Go away, I'm hurt"? He's out of options this time.

In the end, he settles for the one bottle since he won't be able to carry any more anyway. He's able to hold onto it in his left hand, thankfully, and he slowly turns to face the Nord. "Alright. Let's go then."

With the Gods on his side for once, Argis takes the lead, so Aeryn doesn't have to hide his limping too much as they backtrack through the basement, passing by corpses and chests and all sort of storage containers that Aeryn will have to go back and rummage through later. He'll just have to survive one flight of stairs; then he'll be fine. 

_If_ he survives, that is.

Lifting his foot to the first step put so much strain on his wounded thigh that his knee gives in, forcing him to catch himself on the wall not to fall over. This is ridiculous! He's been able to deal with far worse injuries without becoming crippled like this, so what's so special about this time? He would've known if the arrow had been poisoned, Gods know how many times that's happened, and that's not the case. Is it because he's still wet and cold? Is it because of that panicky thing that tends to happen whenever he's sober?

Despite his quick reflexes, the flailing is enough to catch Argis' attention, who stops and looks over his shoulder. How the fuck does he notice so much with only one eye?

"Aeryn?"

"Mmh?"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing?"

The Nord turns and tilts his head to the side, lifting an eyebrow. In the light from the wall scones, it's only now that Aeryn notices that his nose and the area around it are swollen and red. Again, it's Argis' fault, all of it. He forces a smile while trying to suppress the sharp shots of pain. "It's nothing. I'm just a, uh, bit sore."

"I see." Aeryn can tell the oaf doesn't believe a word of it. "Do you need any help?"

"Nah, don't worry, I'm fine, my leg hasn't, uh, healed up fully yet, but it's fine. Where I was hit," he adds when Argis shoots him a puzzled look.

"Alright."

A chill runs down Aeryn's spine when Argis doesn't move. He whines internally. Please, don't do this to me. "Shall we?"

Argis nods to the distance between them, which is about ten steps. "Go ahead."

Maybe it's the fall on Aeryn's face that gives Argis a final clue to confirm that, yes, Aeryn's full of shit. He inhales slowly, deliberately, and crosses his arms, giving Aeryn that look of a parent who just found out that their child lied about getting a black-eye from falling down a ladder. As if they believed that story from the start. They should've seen the other guy, though. "Aeryn."

Fuck, Argis even sounds like his father. "That's me."

"Just _how_ injured are you?"

"It's, ah, not that bad, really - "

"Then **walk**."

There's a stern, weary tone in Argis' voice that Aeryn has heard it in others plenty of times. Don't worry; he'll give up soon enough.

The hand resting on the wall forms a fist, and Aeryn steels himself before taking another step. It goes alright, probably because he's leaning all of his weight onto the wall, enough to flash a triumphant smile. Come on, it's not that bad.

But, as he has to support his weight onto his wounded leg, a thwack of pain kicks his balance away, and he falls again. He manages to shield his face from cracking open against a step and hits the same goddamn spot on his shin as he instinctively uses that leg to cushion the impact. He saved the bottle from smashing, though.

" _Aeryn!_ "

Once he's down, Aeryn makes no effort in getting up again. This is his life now; there's no use in trying to fight it. This is it, the end of the Dragonborn, battled to the death by a stairwell. Aetherius, here he comes.

"Shit, Aeryn, are you okay?"

A bitter laugh passes Aeryn's lips and throws a gust of dust back up in his face. "I'm **fine** , can't you tell? Never felt better. Now, leave me alone so I can die in peace."

"What? Don't be silly, just - Come, let me help you up."

"No, thanks."

The following exhale is loud, and Aeryn awaits the moment when Argis realizes that he's hopeless and doesn't deserve the effort. But, instead of footsteps leading away, there's shuffling, followed by a _clank_. A second passes before Aeryn slowly shifts his head, rests the side of it against his forearm to see what the sound was about, and nope, Argis hasn't left. He's sitting down next to him.

Aeryn frowns. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for you to grow tired of laying there and suck up your damn ego, so you'll let me help you," Argis replies matter-of-factly. He turns his head enough to watch Aeryn's eyebrows rise toward his hairline. "What did you think I was doing?"

"... First of all, that's fucking rude," Aeryn mutters, still in denial of the fact that his ego is at least twice his size and about that much too big. "And, uh..." He brushes his fingertip against the rough, dirty surface of the step. "I don't know. Figured you'd leave."

Argis chuckles, followed by a groan, and he lightly touches the swollen area around his nose. "You'll need to try harder than that to make me give up."

"Maybe I will," Aeryn grumbles. "So, you mean that me headbutting you wasn't enough?" 

"I'm _very_ patient."

"Or maybe you're just stupid?"

It's not like Aeryn hasn't noticed that the insult hits a sensitive nerve. Maybe that's why he keeps doing it, because he figures that soon enough, he'll cross a line where Argis punches him and returns to Markarth. But, to his dismay, he doesn't get any reaction he's hoping for.

"I'm not the one lying with my face down in a staircase because I'm too stubborn to accept help," Argis points out, not even trying to hide his grin. Aeryn's eyes shoot up wide.

"... Did you just call _me_ stupid?" 

"I did. And from my point of view, there isn't that much you can say to argue."

"You clearly underestimate me; I can always argue," Aeryn mutters, frowning at the bark of laugher. "Besides, you're half-blind, so your point of view doesn't count."

There's that amused chuckle again. "Aeryn, please, for once, could you quit being so proud and just let me help you up? You're wet and hurt. We need to get you dry, at the very least."

Like Aeryn doesn't know that already? Still, asking for help would mean that he isn't fully capable of taking care of himself. And he can't have that. So, as the grown-up he is, he turns his face to the other side, hides it in the crook of his arm. "I'll be fine. You go ahead."

A long, deliberate inhale follows. "Alright, fine, if that's the way you want it - "

"Fucking finally."

"- then I'm carrying you." 

" _ **What?!**_ "

Aeryn spins over to his back way too fast and uncontrolled, resulting in a wave of pain that ripples through his shoulder as it slams into the step underneath him. He cries out and clutches his abused arm to his chest, biting down on his lip to keep the tears at bay. Not only that but now his bow is awkwardly poking against his spine, which isn't comfortable at all. Fuck everything.

His head falls back, and he screws his eyes shut as he struggles to breathe it through. Then, slowly, he peels them open to meet Argis' disapproving gaze hovering above him. "... Hi."

"So..." Argis inhales slowly and raises an eyebrow. "When you mentioned that your shoulder was a bit 'sore' earlier, _this_ is what you meant?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Aeryn whines. "It just - it got worse, okay?"

"Mhm." Again, not a chance that he fell for that. "Look, you can't lie here all night. And you can't walk, so -" 

"You don't need to _carry_ me like I'm a fucking cripple because of that!"

"Gods, it doesn't turn you into a cripple, Aeryn. You're exaggerating. Also, I can't support you standing up if your shoulder hurts _that_ much, and I can't take you on my back either." Argis sighs and rubs a hand across his forehead before he squats down by Aeryn's side. "Please, just tell me; what's the worse thing that's going to happen if I pick you up?"

Come on; it's not like Aeryn's got any valid answer to that. He knows he can't argue against logic. Stubbornly, he looks away and sucks the side of his lower lip in between his teeth. He tries to come up with a plausible argument, which is a waste of time since there aren't any. He remains quiet for some time while Argis simply waits.

Perhaps it's the exhaustion that causes Aeryn's defenses to crumble a little, a few grains of sand that fall out between the enormous blocks forming the wall between him and everyone else. He licks his lips and inhales.

"I just... You know, I always... Um." As he struggles for words, he can see Argis' hand reach out in the corner of his eye, only to stop mid-air before he retracts it. Huh. So, he did get the hint, then. That might be the thing that allows the following words to escape. "... I don't like being dependent."

He can feel Argis' stare at him, then a low chuckle emerges. "Aeryn, you're the last person I'd ever consider to be dependent on anyone," Argis says with an audible smile. "You're the _Dragonborn_. You slay Dragons and monsters and bandits and Gods knows what, _alone_. You're a Thane as well, and that's a title the Jarl won't give to anyone. Simply accepting a hand won't change that. You'll still be just as capable of taking care of yourself afterward. It won't change _you_."

Aeryn shifts to stare nonplussed at the Nord as if he'd just spoken in a foreign language. During all the years in Valenwood and after he left, he's barely heard anything spoken about accepting help, at least not without something in return, say, a murder or a trinket for coin, or paying for companionship on the road. He isn't raised like that either, clearly remembering his father repeating, _"If you want something done, you have to do it yourself"_ and _"You have to stay strong, or else, others will see you as weak and take advantage of you"_ at every given moment the lessons could be given. And now this Nord, a man who's born to fight and win battles for his Gods, out of all people, is telling him to accept his freely given help. Just like that.

Skyrim is one strange fucking place.

The Nord tilts his head to the side. "So, how about it, wanna give it a try?"

Unease floods Aeryn's stomach at the mere thought of it. It isn't acceptable to be weak, no matter the circumstance. Not even if it kills you.

"If it helps, I promise I won't tell anyone," Argis adds as if he thinks he'll get the chance to let anyone know that Aeryn's been lying wounded in a staircase. _Please._

"No, you won't," Aeryn agrees bitterly, and Argis smiles wider. He then sighs and, with no way out, gives in. "... Fine." 

The tension falling off Argis' shoulders is almost audible. "So, you'll let me help you up?"

"I said 'fine,' didn't I?" Aeryn grumbles, then narrows his eyes at the expectant look on the Nord's face. "Don't push it, you filthy hoarvor. I'm not begging, if that's what you're waiting for."

"Alright, alright, it never hurts to try." Argis chuckles and moves into a better position. "Now, which side hurts the least?"

Despite everything hurting equally as much, Aeryn decides to keep his shoulder away from any pressure. His body stiffens when the Nord carefully eases his arms underneath his knees and behind his back, between his armor and the bow, already regretting the decision. Gods, he's turned into a fucking child, pathetic and vulnerable.

"I understand if this is, uh, uncomfortable, but it won't hurt as much if you relax," Argis says.

"Not the first time I've heard that one," Aeryn says, forcing an amused smirk at the confused look on Argis' face before giving up trying to be funny. He rolls his eyes. "... I'm not doing it on purpose, okay?"

"Look, it's only a short way, alright? I'll let you down in no time, but you're not making it easier on yourself if you tense up like that, so, um... Try to, uh, breathe?"

"Wow, _great_ advice." Aeryn snorts. "Hadn't thought of that before. You should write a book." 

"I'm sorry, I don't... Do this very well. Alright, I'll just... Get you up, okay?"

"If you drop me, I'll bleed you dry."

"Gods, I'm not going to drop you, please, lend me a little trust this once."

And with that, Argis lifts him up from the stairs with no effort at all. "Is this alright?" he worries, probably due to Aeryn's uncomfortable expression. "Let me know if it's too much."

"Just move."

Aeryn can't think of a time he's ever been picked up like this before, and it's embarrassing. At least he doesn't feel trapped like earlier; Argis is holding him far too loosely to trigger any panic, which is... Good. He clings to the bottle resting on his stomach while the Nord slowly makes his way up the stairs, and though he's being held gently, surprisingly so, Aeryn hates it still.

Though, despite the humiliation of being carried like a bride, his body wants to relax. And, before Argis has made it half-way to the kitchen area, Aeryn's ego is the one who's refusing to allow it to.

Since the day he was forced to flee into the Heartlands, Aeryn never recovered enough to welcome people into his life. There are a few who's been patient and persistent enough to cling on until he let them in, people he still holds close. It's simply not worth the risk. Even keeping a door unlocked for others to find and open is scary.

Now, as he realizes he's losing the battle with his ego to his exhausted body, a spark of panic lights in his chest. He can't give in, no matter how his muscles throbs and screams for relief. Then, there's a shift in Argis' arms, as if the Nord somehow knows what's going on in his head, and Aeryn's held a little tighter. Feels a little safer.

It's enough to kick his ego in the guts, and, suddenly, he's relaxing. Defeat stings in his chest as his head lolls to the side, finding a comfortable place against Argis' shoulder. Fuck, he hates it. What he hates even more is how much he _needs_ it.

He's been living off of fleeting company for years, finding what comfort available in bed, absorbing every little touch and speck of affection like a dry sponge. He'll never admit exactly how starved he is for physical contact. The fact that he immediately misses the closeness once Argis gently puts him down in a chair once they reach the kitchen is a good clue, though.

"You okay?" Argis asks once he's backed away a few steps, giving him space. Aeryn would think of it as considerate if he wanted to add any personality to the dumb Nord. "Anything hurting more?"

"Nah, it's fine," Aeryn murmurs, a somber wave washing over him over the fact that he's such a fucking mess. Not that he doesn't know, but whenever life reminds him, it hurts just as much. It hurts being alone, but... He doesn't have any other choice, does he?

"Good. I'll get a fire going and see if I can find something for us to eat. You get some rest, okay? Holler if you need anything, I'll stay close by."

"Yeah, sure."

Fuck, he prays Argis abandons him soon; otherwise, everything is going to get much, much more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aetherius is where Bosmers who follow the Green Pact will end up after death.
> 
> Please note that Aeryn is a bit dumb; asking for help is the strongest, bravest thing you could do. Don't listen to him; if you're struggling or drowning from pressure because of anything at all, asking for help will save you. Take care of yourself! You're important!


	12. When ice turns ablaze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argis knew it was inevitable even before leaving Markarth, but that doesn't mean he's prepared for it to happen. And when it does, all he can do is pray for his feet to stay swift and his sword to strike true.
> 
> Aeryn, on the other hand, is just happy to finally get into an adrenaline-pumping battle with another cranky lizard. Though, this one hurts a bit more than those before.

It takes two nights to return west to Dragon Bridge, where Aeryn sells some of the findings from the fort and re-stocks on arrows and potions before they move on toward their next stop. With the help of a lot of nagging, which resulted in a few death threats, but no bloodshed, Argis manages to get Aeryn to let him do all the heavy lifting around the camp to let the elf's shoulder rest. Despite Aeryn's constant complaining about not needing any help, the pain eases, and Argis enjoys the sweet moment of triumph before the threatening starts over. 

It's early noon after the third night. They are continuing north-west for a Pinemoon Cave that supposedly shelters a group of vampires that Aeryn agreed to deal with. Argis have encountered vampires before, a long time ago now, and made sure to purchase the appropriate cures, just in case.

The day has been great so far; a clear blue sky, sunshine that turns frozen leaves and pines into sparkling crystals, fresh, crisp air, happy horses, and Aeryn hadn't told him to fuck off anywhere. Argis has a good feeling about this day.

Until -

"Aeryn, why are we stopping?"

The elf holds a hand up to shush him and closes his eyes, head tilting back a little. Looking around, it strikes Argis that the world has suddenly gone quiet. No birds chirping, the wind doesn't move a single pine or leaf, no scattered movements between the trees. It's like time has stopped. Then, he can _hear_ it.

It's distant, but it's there, like the rumbling promise of a thunderstorm closing in over the horizon. The hair stands on Argis' arms when he hears it again, clearer, _closer_ , pulse-quickening in his chest. Looking over, Aeryn is grinning at him, sharp canines and eyes glittering with excitement. Hunger.

"Dragon."

This day was bound to come, but Argis couldn't have prepared for it any other way than accepting that it might be his last. Rather die at the maws of a Dragon than of old age surrounded by politicians. He licks his lips. "Tips?"

"As I said before, watch out for every-fucking-thing, aim for the wings to cripple it. Leave the head to me and go for the legs, but don't lose sight of the tail. That can knock you out real good."

"You make it sound too easy, Aeryn." Argis swallows and dismounts when Aeryn does and starts preparing his gear.

"The principles are simple. It's the staying alive that's the hard part. Just stay quick on your feet and you'll probably be fine."

_Probably_. Great.

There it is again, louder. Argis tightens the straps around his forearm and gives it a few good swings, making sure his shield is secure before he picks potions from the saddlebag and places them onto his belt. Health and stamina but also fire and ice resistance, on Aeryn's suggestion. "Should you really be the one closest to all those teeth?"

"Yes."

"Why?" He walks around Vól to watch Aeryn untie his second, larger quiver from Frost's harness and attaches it to his hip, more than doubling the number of arrows. He's got an array of bottles attached to his belt as well.

"Because I'm quicker than you," he replies matter-of-factly and raises an eyebrow. He looks so collected, more eager than anything, whereas Argis' insides are twisting around themselves. "You just focus on bleeding it out. If you get the chance to stab its side, do that. I think the area around their ribs is a bit softer."

"Alright." Argis nods, then shakes his hands, tries to relieve some tension. _Right_. "How do we do this, then? Do we seek it out?"

"We need to find an open area, preferably. Killing a Dragon in the middle of the forest fucking sucks. It's nice cover, but it takes forever to get a good shot." Aeryn walks over to the side of the narrow road and looks down the slope. "Like down there."

Argis joins him and spots vast plains dotted with frozen ponds, the area bordered with fir trees and frozen craigs that stretch out into a forest. "So, we go there?"

"Yeah." Aeryn turns to Frost and pulls his head down by his reins. "Alright, pony, you stay the fuck away from me. Keep out until it's dead. I don't want you to become lunch. Got me?" Frost snorts and nuzzles his chest, and Aeryn gives his cheek a few pats, then rests his forehead against his horse's for a second. "Good." He looks up, over at Vól, and then down at Frost again. "And keep the other one safe. Yeah, I know she doesn't like you, but just, don't be an ass, and it'll be fine, alright? Good. Now, get out of here."

"I appreciate that," Argis says, still unsure of what to make out of Aeryn chatting with his horse, and rubs Vól's neck before following Aeryn downhill, watching his steps not to trip over roots or the dense carpet of snowy berry shrubs. They make a quick stop to shove their backpacks and cloaks underneath the thick branches of a fir tree before continuing downhill.

"Yeah, well, Frost's strong, but not enough to take the two of us."

"Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. Now, let's go get this fucking lizard."

Walking out onto the plains feels like stepping into an arena; all that's missing is a cheering crowd. The snow crunching underneath his armored boots is suddenly so loud, like he can hear each individual crystal break. A gust of wind finds its way down and sends snowflakes swirling up from the ground in a flurry, leads them across the open space. Once it stills, it's eerily quiet. As if the world knows what's about to go down.

The sound is there again, closer, so close that Argis can make it out as an actual roar. His throat dries up. "How do we get it here?"

"Oh, she'll come, don't you worry," Aeryn ensures, sounding far too excited. "She knows I'm here. I know where she is as well."

"You can tell?"

"Yeah." Aeryn lifts his bow and points the tip of it toward the tree-tops on the other side of the plains. "Over there."

Two minutes passes at the speed of an hour as Argis stares at the point Aeryn indicated. He struggles to keep his breath steady, tries to turn inward to find calm, focuses on the exhales of fog that evaporates into the air. He's fought before. He's fought men, trolls, wildlife, giants, and draugr. He _knows_ how to fight. This time, it's just a matter of a bigger, angrier enemy.

He sees Aeryn shift and snaps out of his head to see a silhouette appear over the tree-line. _This is it._ He unsheaths his sword, a new blade they found back at the fort. It's a backsword, which he isn't very familiar with, but all the practice he got with it along the road from the fort was enough to turn it into a comfortable extension of his arm. Sharper, deadlier, about the same weight. Practical. What better way to test its true performance than against a Dragon? "Where do you want me?"

"I'll keep her attention to this side," the elf replies and points to the right side of the open area, the one with fewer ponds and more jagged rock formations stretching up from underneath the earth. "So you stay over here and get in close when you can." He looks up at Argis and grins broadly. "This will be fun."

"We have very different opinions on 'fun,' Aeryn."

Looking up, the silhouette has grown to at least thrice the size, and it's closing in on them. Fast. "Keep on your feet!" Aeryn calls and jogs off to the right, nocking an arrow as he does. Argis' glove creaks as his fist tighten around the leather-wrapped hilt. "Will do," he murmurs and exhales slowly. "Will do."

Before he gets time to prepare for it, the sun is suddenly blocked out, and what follows is a gut-wrenching sound that makes Argis' skin crawl. It's a sound so loud and deep it makes the earth tremble beneath his feet. Then, a white blur blinds him, covers the entire sky, and it's all that's needed for adrenaline to take over.

He dashes to the side, feels the wind sweep of wings clipping through the air as they pass above him, sending an icy blast his way. Turning his head, it's hovering high above the ground, and he's able to get a look at what in the God's names he's fighting. And the sight drains his face of color.

Silvery blue wings span out at the width of a palace's courtyard, attached to a body made of a million shards of gleaming scales that reflects the golden rays like crystals, larger than a longhouse. It's a thing out of fairy tales and nightmares, and it steals Argis' breath away, both out of awe and out of fear. Enormous, powerful, fearsome. And in the moment, it even strikes him as beautiful.

Then, it _screeches._

The sound cuts through Argis' eardrums like a blacksmith's hammer on steel, threatens to shatter his bones, forces him to cover his ears. Once the sound stops, he looks over at Aeryn, who loosens an arrow that hits the Dragon somewhere in the chest area. It doesn't seem to bother it. "Get down here, you ugly piece of shit!" he yells, then, Argis is introduced to the proper meaning of Jaqspurs' 'snatch and release' technique.

Even at this distance, it's possible to make out the incredible speed at which Aeryn is unleashing arrows into the air, each one hitting the Dragon somewhere on the body, not missing a beat other than having to grab another handful of arrows. Yeah, he's probably doing fine on his own. Maybe Argis should try and quit worrying about him.

When the Dragon sweeps across the sky, starting to circle him, Aeryn _moves_. The speed he releases the bowstring doesn't slow down even as he is dancing across the area, never looking away. As if he's been doing this for a lifetime.

Argis can't do anything helpful while the Dragon is airborne, so he keeps moving, keeps his eye on the creature and Aeryn, watches the elf throw himself out of the way from an incoming hail of frost.

Then, Argis' body shakes as the ground trembles, and the creature lands, snow flurrying into the air like a rain of cut glass that glitters in the sunlight. It's only then that Argis notices the man-sized spikes along its back, like gnarly stalagmites, sharp enough to skewer anything that fell upon it.

"Shor, should this be my final hour, welcome me to your Hall of Valor," Argis mumbles under his breath, working up courage in knowing that if he dies, it will be a warrior's death. He forces his feet to move him into a sprint, fist whitening around the hilt, shield held high. "And I shall raise a glass in your name."

Coming in on the creature's flank, Argis doesn't get time to take in the sheer size of this ancient being. Just the tail could be a creature of its own, like a giant, horned serpent lashing out to kill, forcing him to duck not to get swiped across the head. The first chance he gets, he raises his sword and slashes at its heel.

A furious roar follows, and Argis steels himself against the sound, side-steps barely in time to avoid a foot full of claws that kicks out towards him. Nothing like the courtyard.

Most of this fight he'll remember as a blur; adrenaline pumping, blood rushing in his ears, slipping, running, dodging, pangs of pain when he gets knocked off his feet from a whipping tail or a wing slapping him headfirst into the ground, a gruesome mixture of tastes from potions mingling on his pallet, a dull throb in his head.

_Push_.

Lips tasting of salt and iron, the constant tingling of his skin splitting and closing, drops of sweat stinging in his eye, lungs stinging.

_Don't give in_.

Shots of fear whenever Aeryn gets too close to those teeth for comfort.

He can't tell how much time has passed, but, somehow, he is still alive, and somehow, the Dragon seems to grow tired. Its movements are getting slower, sloppier, its cries not as ear-piercing, and on the ground, it's limping. Maybe it's possible. He chugs a stamina potion while running in a big circle around the Dragon's back, looking for an opening to rush in and get another area bleeding.

Aeryn has suffered far fewer impacts with the constant distance he keeps, and Argis can see how he manages to take down these creatures alone; patience, stamina, and accuracy. Also, nimble feet. Whenever the Dragon spews ice upon him, he dashes in behind rocks to shield himself or uses one of the frozen ponds to quickly slide away from an incoming set of sharp teeth. Clever.

Though, this time, when Aeryn is hiding behind a rocky formation not to get bitten, the Dragon turns its attention to Argis, who just managed to stab his blade into one of its wings, tearing it like an old sheet. The beast is still fast, both for its size and the number of arrows lodged into its head, and a few in one bleeding eye, and suddenly, it's staring right at him. All blood and teeth and fury, oozing of death.

" _Shit._ "

Before he gets time to figure out which direction to rush to, those enormous jaws open and release a roaring, frigid storm straight at him. Being naturally resistant to cold isn't enough to embrace this chill with open arms.

With his shield, he covers what he can of his upper-body, hunching down to protect more of himself, but the cold eats straight through the plates and thick layers protecting his legs and feet, so cold it burns his skin. He can even see crystals form on the inside of his shield.

He needs to keep moving, but it's like trying to hold up against a hurricane, and one wrong step can be his death. All his strength goes into keeping his shield up against the storm and the shards of ice that shatters against it, feet digging into the ground, and the strain hurts as much as the cold. But this _can't_ be the end of him.

A low, rumbling growl builds up in his chest, and he uses it to fuel his muscles, his mind, and leans into the storm, then moves. One step at a time, he shifts his position further away from the Dragon's maw, hopefully getting out of reach to get snapped in half. While he moves, he fumbles for a frost resistance potion on his back, uncorks it with his teeth, and then downs the whole thing. It tastes of mint and sulfur, a very unpleasant combination, but Argis isn't in a position to complain. It takes the peak off the sharp pain on his legs, making it more manageable to move. All he can do is pray that the Dragon isn't closing in on him since he can't peek over the edge of his shield to look for himself without risking getting pierced by a shard.

Then, it stops, and Argis stumbles forward when the force disappears, catches himself with a hand on the ground before hurrying back up again. Aeryn has gotten its attention with the help of another wave of arrows.

Then, he Shouts.

As the Dragon opens its mouth, Aeryn is standing right in front of it, bracing, and Argis sees him inhale, then forms words that explode into a raging inferno, straight down its throat.

For a second, Argis blanks out. As if meeting a Dragon for the first time wasn't enough to give him a mental meltdown; now, he's witnessing an elf about half his size exhale a firestorm at said ancient creature. If someone told him this story over a tankard of mead at the tavern, he'd laugh it off as a vivid tale for children. 

A screech of pain, as well as the heatwave, snaps Argis out of it as the sound almost cracks his eardrums. The creature stumbles and collapses, the flames inside its throat shimmering like embers through the thick scales. Aeryn stoops over a rock, a hand pressed to his chest, knees faltering, then sinks to the snowy ground. As Argis is about to hurry over, the Dragon gets up.

And it's _angry._

The creature staggers closer to Aeryn, head held low, like a mountain lion closing in to ambush an unknowing prey. Blood gushes from the many wounds around its head and legs, staining the white plains in red. It's limping, dragging itself across the ground, moments from death, but that doesn't stop it from trying to take Aeryn down with it.

And Argis isn't going to allow that. 

Some other part of his brain takes over, or maybe it's the adrenaline blocking out all his other senses and pains when he sets off into a sprint. 

It's enough to shatter whatever fear he felt facing this creature, enough to encourage him to rush in headfirst and throw himself at a living, barely but still breathing Dragon, and use his entire weight to thrust his blade into its eye.

Where Argis expected a roar, there's nothing but high-pitch, gut-wrenching wheezing from its scorched throat, and it uses whatever strength remaining to toss is heads to the side, sending Argis flying with it.

He crashes onto his side on one of the frozen specks of water and hears the echo of ribs fracturing before the pang of pain fires up in his chest. It knocks the air and almost the consciousness out of him as he comes to a sliding stop against the low, snowy bank bordering the pond, gasping and clutching his chest. Instinctively, he tries to get up and hurry back up to help Aeryn, but the piercing pain knocks him back down on his back. His jaw creaks of the pressure of biting down a cry, eye pricking with tears, and he forces himself to push through it to reach a health potion on his back.

It doesn't take many gulps before the worst of the pain eases, which allows him to better breathe, and he tells himself to thank Aeryn for the potions later. Speaking of Aeryn.

Looking over in the elf's direction, relief floods him when he spots him struggle to get up, and the Dragon collapsed on the ground, motionless. Thank Ysmir, it wasn't in vain.

Then, something in the corner of his eye steals his attention.

As if in a dream, the air around the fallen Dragon starts to glow. Bright, golden rays shine through its scaly body, as if it had swallowed the midsummer sun, and then it seems to... Disintegrate?

Figuring he must've gotten a head injury, Argis gawks as the dead creature slowly fades into flittering bits, like its body turned into a swarm of butterflies that reaches for the sky, only to burn up in ashes. The golden air morphs into a stream of liquid, and it rises from the Dragon to float down to Aeryn, swirls, and dances around him, then, abruptly, it disappears. The only thing left of the creature is its large bones.

The soul. The Dragon's soul. He just watched Aeryn absorb a soul. _A soul_. Ysmir, this is all too much to deal with right now. He'll need days to comprehend what in the world he just witnessed.

After ensuring that the elf seems alright, Argis drops his head down into the snow, relaxes the best he can while the potion works to repair his broken bones, every single part of him exhausted. And as the panic of battle ceases, all the emotions flood him like a tidal wave. He's fought a damn Dragon and lived. He almost got snapped in half, clawed, shredded to pieces by an icicle storm; Aeryn could have gotten killed. The fear of the creature, of dying, of not being able to protect Aeryn all collectively punches him in the stomach, threatens to overwhelm him.

"I lived," he whispers as he focuses on the physical sensation of cold against his body to anchor himself, deeply inhales then slowly, shakily exhales for a minute or two until the raging emotions calm. 

"Well, fuck, look at that, you're still breathing."

A tired chuckle sounds from Argis' lips, which he immediately regrets as it stabs at his ribs, and he groans. "I'm as surprised as you are. I just, uh, need a second to get back in one piece." He looks up at Aeryn, who's grinning awkwardly around a split lip, leaning against Argis' sword. Nice to know that it didn't go up in smoke with the rest of the Dragon, wherever it disappeared to. "Glad to see that you're alive too. That was one heck of a fight, damn. I was certain I'd meet my ancestors today."

"Yeah. Have to say, I wasn't really prepared for her to be so persistent. The others weren't this strong," Aeryn says, voice raw, and scratches the back of his neck. It shifts the angle of his head enough for Argis to spot a deep, long cut from the side of his mouth to his ear, together with several gashes here and there, that's slowly closing up. "I've never fought a frosty one before."

"You managed yourself without much trouble, though. Did you learn anything about it?"

"That it sucked a bit more than those who spits fire." Aeryn shrugs, though Argis can spot some seriousness in his eyes. He then lifts his arm to cough into the crook of it, grimacing. "And that I'll need more arrows."

Mentioning it, Argis' gaze falls on Aeryn's hips and his two empty quivers. "So, that why you, uh... Shouted?"

"Ah, yeah, I thought it would be enough to end her since she was already dying, but guess not." The elf purses his lips and tilts his head a bit, as if he's contemplating something, and rubs a free hand along his upper arm. Then, looking away at something interesting that Argis can't see, he mumbles a "Thanks."

It might be an obvious response to show a person gratitude, especially when the said person kept you alive, but coming from Aeryn, Argis feels like he's just received a blessing from a High Priestess. It's such a rare occasion, and, despite the pain and exhaustion, it warms him enough to bring a smile to his swollen lips. "You're welcome. Glad I could be of help."

Aeryn coughs some more and nods, still not looking at him. "Yeah, so, uh, you good to get up?"

Trying his luck, Argis shifts a little, and while his ribs still hurt, the pain isn't crippling. Carefully, he eases his body up onto the bank before working his way up to one knee, appreciating the soft snow. He pauses, breathes. "How come you waited until you were out of arrows before you used the Shout?"

"Because it knocks the fucking life out of me," Aeryn replies with a low chuckle. "Not all of them, but I've noticed that the, um... More powerful ones, just... Drains me. Especially that damn fire blast, it feels like my insides are going to burn up every time. So I don't use them unless I have to."

"Like with Deeja?" Argis inquires and slowly makes it up to his feet. Aeryn rolls his eyes at him and shrugs, then lets go of the sword when Argis reaches out to grab it.

"She deserved a bit of humiliation," he mutters, and Argis chuckles, which doesn't hurt nearly as much this time. Carefully, he sheaths his sword.

"I suppose she did. I think I'm alright to get moving."

"Good. We need to get a camp up somewhere. I'm dying for a nap."

"You and me both. But, um." Argis looks over at the direction of what remains of the Dragon. "Can, uh... We go look before we leave?"

"Look?" Aeryn frowns and turns his head, then looks back at Argis in mock-disbelief. "... You want to go look at the Dragon bones?" He chuckles and shakes his head when Argis nods, like a child asking permission to go pet a stray. "Have at it. I need to see if any of my arrows are intact anyway."

Argis jerks his head, and an eyebrow pop up. An archer is nothing with an empty quiver, so, "You haven't checked if there are any to retrieve yet?"

It's Aeryn's time to look surprised, eyes widening, and Argis can swear that the tips of his ears turn pink. It could be the cold, though. "W - well, I just, uh, figured if you needed something, or, whatever, you know. You weren't moving, and I - uh." While he stutters, he runs his fingers down his throat, then scratches the side of his jaw and up his neck, looking everywhere but at Argis. "No need to get all... Sappy about it."

It's hard not to smile at Aeryn awkwardly struggling to confess any sort of concern, or rather, struggle to hide it. Like he's afraid that he'll combust if he accidentally cares for someone. "I won't," he promises and dares show a gentle smile when Aeryn hesitantly glances at him. "Thank you for checking in on me. I appreciate it."

"Y - yeah, well, whatever, let's go." Aeryn rubs a palm over his chest as he turns to walk on ahead. "Before some other monstrosity shows up."

"Like your ego," Argis suggests in a low mumble, then gives Aeryn an innocent look when the elf scowls at him over his shoulder. "I said, 'good call'!"

"I'm leaving you to die the next time," Aeryn swears bitterly, but Argis catches a spark of amusement in his eyes before he looks away.

Carefully, Argis tries his limbs out with a few steps. It hurts, but he doesn't collapse, so he figures he'll be alright and follows Aeryn with a smile lingering on his lips.

So, he isn't all bad, after all. Perhaps he's more like one of those 'hard on the outside, soft on the inside' types? There are plenty of those, in all sizes. He still wants to ask about the soul, how it feels, and what actually happened, about that fire Shout, but right now, he'd rather enjoy the short, fragile moment of Aeryn showing a glimpse of humility.

And check out these huge-ass Dragon bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few notes;
> 
> \- The plains area is completely made up, in-game it's all rocky mountains.  
> \- Argis' new sword is an in-game Nordic Sword.  
> \- I want the dragons to sound more like the dragons in Dragon Age Inquisition, which is where the screeching is inspired from. If you haven't played the game and want to know what that sounds like, skip to 2:15 and 3:38 in this video, which is a recording of a DAI dragon battle, for some satisfying (IMO) dragon sounds; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3JvS9zkIYxk&t=118s


	13. Hard to swallow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the help of some iffy home-made remedy, Argis gets back on track, hopefully planting some ideas in Aeryn's head on the way. Though, as they reach Pinemoon Cave, they stumble upon something far more gut-wrenching than what Aeryn might be using in his ointments.

Never in his life has Argis seen anything resembling the enormous skeleton towering from the snow. The bones are clean and smooth as every speck of muscle and tendon has... Well, disappeared. Somewhere. He removes his glove to stroke a cold rib, feels the ridges under his callused palm. Awe strikes him as he carefully walks over to the skull, sore enough to limp, and takes in the size of the creature. The _Dragon._ A goddamn Dragon. This is going to be fun writing home about. His mother is going to be so jealous.

"So... How does it work, exactly? With the soul?" Argis asks while admiring the massive skull, running his hands along the sharp outlines. He could fit a fist and some more into its eye socket.

"Damn if I know."

He cocks an eyebrow. "You mean the Greybeards didn't tell you?"

"Well, it - hm."

Looking over, Aeryn stands with his hands on his hips and tilts his head from side to side. "Well, yeah, I guess they did, but I don't think I really listened. Or, uh." He rubs his thumb across the back of his other hand. "... Wanted to listen."

"Why not?"

The elf stares into space for a moment, then meets Argis' soft gaze. "... I wasn't really, um..." He shakes his head, and Argis sighs internally. Another mystery for the ages. "Nevermind. From what I know about the soul thing, I think it's something about absorbing, uh, fragments, or pieces, of Akatosh? And with them, with this life-force, I can... Become stronger, I guess? Learn more Words of Power and... Stuff?"

"Huh. Pieces of Akatosh? Damn." Argis scratches his stubble and looks over the remains again. It's a concept far more complicated than he can grasp; however, after watching Aeryn absorb wisps of golden energy, it doesn't sound impossible. "That sounds like a big deal. Do you, um, understand their language as well?"

"No, I know the words for the Shouts and what they mean, but that's it. I didn't wake up knowing an entirely new language, you know?"

"Which ones do you know?" Argis smiles innocently when Aeryn rolls his eyes at him and clicks his tongue. "Come on; you can't tease with claiming you know words of the language of _Dragons_ and don't think I'll be curious."

"Like you aren't curious about every-fucking-thing? Y'ffre's roots, _fine_ , um. 'Zun' means 'weapon,' 'Yol' and 'Toor' means 'fire' and 'inferno,' 'Krah' means 'cold,' and there you go." Aeryn flaps his hands out from his sides and shrugs. "Happy?"

"Yes, thank you for sharing." Argis smiles, then wrinkles his forehead. "Saying the word out loud isn't enough to create a Shout?"

"No, I need a bit more focus than that. You think the Dragons just randomly Shout whenever they are having a conversation? Just accidentally blasting fire in each other's faces?"

The image makes Argis snicker, which hurts. "I suppose not, didn't think about that. Speaking of it, what happened to this Dragon? Where did the rest of it go?"

"To join its brethren in the Mediocre Wine Hall of Akatosh."

Argis stares at the elf, who chortles at the nonplussed look on his face. "I don't fucking know, alright? Stop asking questions, and let's get that camp going."

Reluctantly, Argis leaves the skeleton behind as they ascend from the plains, a bit slower than usual with the thrumming ache, and grabs their gear on the way. He figures they'll battle a few more of those before the journey is over, so he'll likely get the chance to marvel over them again. If it hadn't been impossible, it would be amazing to bring a part of it back home.

They find their horses not too far off, Argis giving an appreciative pat on Frost's neck for keeping Vól safe, if he actually did that, and then they spend a good portion of time searching for a safe spot to rest.

When they settle in by a cliff-wall, where the scattered trees will provide some protection from view and wind, the sun is still shining its light over them, making it a lot easier to move around and get everything settled compared to the usual 'stumbling around in the dark.' Though, it's mainly just Argis who struggles.

He does as much as possible despite the increasing throb around his ribs and comes to the bitter conclusion that Aeryn isn't the only one who unwillingly accepts defeat. He's forced to when Aeryn starts complaining that he's in the way.

"Thank you for your concern, but it's alright."

"I'm not concerned, dammit, you're making things worse! Shoo!"

Argis blinks. "... Did you just 'shoo' me?"

"Yes! I want to get this done before midnight, now, go away before you fuck the ropes up!"

Once the main parts of their camp are raised and done, without Argis' help, the Nord sits down onto his bedroll with a groan. To think that he was used to getting bruised and injured daily when he was working on the road. Has he really gone this soft in just a couple of years?

He undoes the many straps and buckles of his armor to look at the damage, and manages until he tries to get the sturdy piece off. He leans to the side, tries to get it to slide off his shoulder but hisses as he relents when a jab of pain hits him in the chest. Dammit. He sits back up and breaths it through. "Hey, Aeryn?"

_"Yeah?"_

"Can you help me with this?"

The elf appears in the tent opening, puzzled. "Can I what?"

"I need to get this off and check my side, but I need an extra pair of hands," Argis explains. "I broke a few ribs back there. Can you help me out?"

Aeryn's head jerks back. "Oh, uh... Okay. What, um, do you need?"

With Aeryn's assistance, they get the bulky piece off, leaving Argis in his long-sleeved wool shirt, and he exhales once the pressure disappears from his chest. "Thank you, that would've been a struggle without help." He offers Aeryn a weak, genuine smile, the elf blinking dumbfounded in return, then eases his shirt up. "Alright, let's see what the damage is."

It's _a lot_. Though hard to see properly from this angle, the left side of his chest is swollen and painted in varying nuances of red. The fractures have healed, so at least he won't be of risk puncturing anything important, but that doesn't mean he's good to head back out on the battlefield.

*

"Damn." He sighs and leans back with a grunt, supports his weight on a hand behind him to get a better look while holding his shirt up with the other. "That's going to hurt for some time."

When Aeryn coughs, Argis peers up. The elf is gawking at his hairy chest, eyebrows raised, lips slightly parted. Argis' spirit falls a bit. "Is it _that_ bad?"

Aeryn jerks, his jaw snapping shut as he looks up, blinking with a flustered look on his face. "What? O - oh, it's, uh." He averts his gaze, clearing his throat as a hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. Argis frowns. Why are his ears turning pink? Is it because of the cold? "...Quite bad."

*

"Great." Argis shifts a little to try and a better look at what Aeryn sees but gives up when it hurts too much. How is he going to fight like this? "I'll just... Put something cold on it and get some rest. I don't know how long it'll take to heal, and I don't want to delay getting all the jobs done, but... Hopefully, it'll be better tomorrow."

While he speaks, Aeryn moves away to his backpack and starts removing things from it in an orderly fashion until he pulls out a small bag. The content clinks as he rummages through it, and he then returns with a small jar.

"Here." He holds it out, then puts it down beside Argis when he doesn't immediately take it. "Put that on."

Baffled by the jar and Aeryn's suddenly annoyed tone, Argis struggles up to a better position and picks up the small container. Opening it, it's filled with some kind of lightly blue cream with yellow specks. Holding it closer to his face, it smells like a crisp, frosty morning. "What is it?"

"It'll reduce the bruising. And make the swelling go down."

"... Huh, okay?" Argis scoops some of the hard, flakey content, which immediately starts to melt into an oily substance on his finger. He lifts his shirt back up and starts the tedious task of smearing it onto the throbbing area, hissing whenever he touches a particularly sore spot. It's pleasantly cool to the skin. "What's it made of?"

"It's, uh, mostly beeswax, ice wraith teeth, and arnica," Aeryn replies, and Argis pauses to stare at him.

"Ice wraith _teeth_?"

"Yeah?"

"How did you get hold of those?"

"I bought them?"

"... Oh." The mere thought of pulling teeth out of those disgusting, snake-like creatures makes Argis shudder. He's only come across them a few times around Dawnstar, but, damn, they are nasty. "Wait, you, owh, you _made_ this yourself?"

"I, uh... Yeah?"

Since they left Markarth, Argis quickly learned that Aeryn has a thing for alchemy, since the elf spends a lot of time creating potions, but he didn't know that he created this kind of stuff as well. Sure, he's seen many vials and containers in Solitude that Aeryn uses to treat his hangovers, but the thought of him creating them himself didn't cross his mind. "Do you make all of your... Ointments and stuff?"

"Is that important?"

"No, not really," Argis replies and adds more cream, groaning as he has to twist to reach. He can only assume that Aeryn evading the question means that he does. "I'm just curious. I've never even read anything about alchemy, so it's a new world to me. Never had anyone to ask either. I don't, ow, have an interest in it, but I appreciate the art." He looks up. "And appreciate that you're skilled in it."

Aeryn doesn't say anything to that; instead, he sits in silence and watches Argis struggling to spread the cream over the back of his ribs. It must be as painful to watch as it is for Argis to do, as he sighs dramatically and shuffles a bit closer, hastily tugging his gloves off.

"Give me that," he mutters and snatches the jar out of Argis' hand. "You're just making a fucking mess." Perplexed, Argis stares at the grumpy elf and blinks, then a warm smile spreads on his lips. Well, well, if there isn't a little care-taker behind all nonchalant mask? "Can't believe you manage anything."

"Good thing you're here to help me out, then." The smile grows at Aeryn's narrow glare, and the elf rubs a blob of cream between his palms until it melts, a faint shade of red tinting his cheeks. Argis holds his breath when Aeryn reaches his hands out, only to be pleasantly surprised by the gentle touch, especially when comparing to the stiff look on his face. It still hurts, but Aeryn's slender hands slowly sweeping back and forth across his side is far more comfortable than his own clumsy prodding. Soon, the whole area tingles from the chilling effect and Argis sighs of relief. "What's the other ingredients in the cream?"

"Secret."

_"Secret_? Why, you don't want it to be replicated?"

"I don't mind, but you don't want to know."

Well, that's ominous. "What if I do?"

He gets a sharp look. "Trust me, you _don't_. And whatever you do, don't taste it."

Argis opens his mouth to argue but figures it might be best not to and closes it again. Not only because he wants to show Aeryn that he does trust him, but he wants to heal up as quickly as possible. And if the ingredients are as off-putting as Aeryn makes them appear to be, well... Best not to know then. So, he remains quiet until Aeryn's done, focuses on listening to the elf's slow breathing.

"That feels better already."

"It should," Aeryn murmurs and retracts his hands. "Just keep an, uh, your eye, on it, and make sure the swelling goes down. You can apply more when needed." He closes the jar and leaves it next to Argis' bedroll.

"Could you help me with it again later?" Argis asks, meeting a sneering smile.

"What, you can't look after yourself?"

Well, isn't this the perfect opportunity? "Sure I can, but why make things harder for myself when getting help will be much quicker and less painful?"

The fall on Aeryn's face is, dare he say, priceless. Argis doesn't know why Aeryn has such issues asking for help, other than that he doesn't want to feel like he depends on others. It's one of many things that Argis ponders while trying to fall asleep at night. That, and how old he is.

To no surprise, he doesn't get a reply. Aeryn just stares at him with that look of someone who's been out-maneuvered and frantically tries to come up with a retort. He then snorts and shuffles over to the campfire to add more fuel to the flames, then puts his things back into his backpack before he passes out on his bedroll. Argis takes it as a win.

The only action happening before nightfall is a Sabre Cat lurking around the outskirt of their camp, probably eyeing their horses, who both warned that something was going on before it got a chance to attack. Argis has fought off one or another before, resulting in a lot of claw marks and him bathing in sweat, so watching Aeryn get up and lose a few arrows in between the trees and then plop down again once the animal fled is just ridiculously unfair.

So, when Aeryn later helps him add more of the cream onto his bruises while muttering something about him being an incapable hoarvor, he can't help but ask, "For how long have you been using a bow?"

An eyebrow creeps up on Aeryn's forehead before meeting his gaze. "Why?"

Why, why, why, always with the why's. There's rarely a look on Aeryn's face or tone in his voice that isn't tinged with suspicion or annoyance. It's what Argis has come to familiarize Aeryn with; the wrinkles between his eyebrows, the narrow squint around hard eyes, the tension in his jaw, lips pressed into a thin line. Is there anything that doesn't bother him? "Because you're very skilled, and I'm curious about how long it's taken you to become so good."

Aeryn returns his focus on the bruises, muttering, "I started young."

"And for how many years has passed since then?"

"A thousand and none-of-your-business."

_Dammit._

"Alright, alright." Argis sighs. "It was worth a try."

Aeryn snorts and rolls his eyes for the fiftieth time today. "Why do you keep nagging me with that question?"

"Because I'm still curious."

"Is there anything you aren't curious about?"

"The political situation in your homeland?"

Aeryn barks a laugh and adds more cream towards Argis' back, circling his hand over the battered skin with slow, gentle movements.  
Maybe there really is a softer side to him, somewhere deep down where that bright, gleeful laugher resides. Argis misses that sight. "What a fucking blessing."

The elf is sitting close enough that Argis can make out an array of tiny scars dotted across his face, and that pleasant scent of lilac hangs in the air. Seeing past the scars, his skin looks so... Smooth. Argis can't spot any dents or ridges, only faint wrinkles between his eyebrows. He meets Aeryn's cautious glance and takes note of the dark shade of his ears before clearing his throat. "Can you at least tell me _why_ you don't want to share?"

"Because my private life got nothing to do with you or anyone else," Aeryn replies and meets Argis' gaze with a pointed look. "So, how about you quit being a fucking nag and respect that?"

Well, there's no arguing that. While Argis is extremely curious about Aeryn's private life, simply because he's so incredibly keen on keeping it locked up, it's not his place to pry where it isn't appreciated. And, who knows, maybe something will come naturally one day? Argis sure hopes so. "Alright, I'm sorry. I'll stop asking."

"Fucking finally," Aeryn mutters and finishes up. "There. It will look better tomorrow."

"Thank you. I appreciate the help."

"Yeah, whatever," comes a barely audible reply, and Aeryn moves over to his side of the tent. "I'll wake you up later."

Their routine is that Aeryn takes first watch, he's been adamant on it, even, and it didn't take that many nights for Argis to add the pieces together as to why;

Aeryn drinks _every_ night. Usually during the days as well, but mainly in the evenings. Now, Argis has no reason to believe that he gets drunk, both because he got angry when being questioned about it, and because he never has been when Argis takes over, but he still drinks. While drinking, he always stays busy with something, either reading or spending time with Frost or tinkering with something that needs repairing or improving. Then, once he's managed to fall asleep, he often twists and turns throughout the night and rarely seems refreshed in the mornings, when he spends time applying and ingesting different kinds of remedies to appear more awake. The only time Argis has noticed him sleeping soundly is after a fight.

Combining the facts leads to the conclusion that Aeryn's got trouble falling asleep unless being exhausted. Relating to himself, to a time where he had many things weighing his mind down, he speculates that Aeryn's head is too messy to let him relax. So, he drinks to get tired. The remaining question is, if that's the case, what's going on that keeps him awake? Which is yet another thing that isn't his business.

They remain in the same place for two nights, mostly due to Argis' injury, but Aeryn does seem to appreciate a day of relaxing. Or, as much as hunting, cooking, reading, and cataloging items might count as 'relaxing.' And he agrees to keep helping Argis add the cream a few times a day, looking just as uncomfortable each time he's thanked for it.

And while he's been clear on not wanting to share anything about himself, that doesn't stop Argis from doing so, despite Aeryn not showing him any interest. He doesn't know why he does it, perhaps to try and encourage the elf to one day let him in on something private by generously telling him about previous injuries he's gotten while escorting dignitaries, such as broken arms and legs, almost getting decapitated by a bandit and said Sabre Cat run-ins. He also mentions how one of his clients got mauled by a bear once, who thought that getting a closer look at the sleeping creature was a great idea, which got a reaction in the form of an incredulous look, but no comments.

Mostly, Aeryn just ignores him or replies with a non-commital "mhm" while doing something else. It might be a waste of time and energy, might make the elf more annoyed with him, but it's the best Argis can come up with to try and soften that exaggerated need for privacy. Why? Well, he still wants Aeryn to trust him, so being open about his own life might get a positive reaction.

On the day they pack up and leave, the swelling and bruising have gone down remarkably. Argis still wonders what the other ingredients are that cause the effects to happen so quickly. He isn't complaining, though. And perhaps it's for the best that he doesn't know.

Once they reach Pinemoon Cave a few hours later, this time, Argis agrees on waiting for Aeryn to clear out the place alone. He's already admitted that sneaking isn't his best skill, but attempting to sneak with a sore injury isn't going to happen. So, after making sure that the area outside the cave is seemingly clear of both enemies and animals, Aeryn enters the cave while Argis remains by the entrance with their backpacks and tries not to let his nerves get the best of him with Aeryn facing a bunch of vampires alone.

Again, yes, _yes_ Aeryn is very skilled. He can take care of himself and doesn't need Argis and have been on his own for so long and yadda yadda, he _knows that_ , but it doesn't mean that he'll gladly stand idle when the elf disappears into a murky cave to deal with blood-sucking maniacs.

At first, he tries to focus on appreciating his surroundings; everything from pine boughs weighed down with snow to the lacy flakes drifting out of the gray sky, to their horses grazing on tufts of dead grass sticking up through the snow. He thinks about winters spent back home, about ignoring his mother's caution about letting the spicy apple cider cool before drinking, ending up scorching his tongue and failing to taste any of the cinnamon or clove or pepper, or anything else, that evening. About hours of hours spent clearing snow between the main house and the many buildings on their farm and enjoying a warm bath afterwards. How he'd maul his younger brother into the snow, only to have their older do the same to him while claiming he has to protect Agnar because it's his "duty as the eldest." Bullshit, all of it, but Argis still smiles at the images.

Some more memories come and go as he watches a pair of birds skitter up and down a tree, and when they fail to keep him occupied, he starts pacing around the area. A slow, leisurely walk, but it helps him feel like he isn't doing nothing. Gods know he's sick of that already.

It takes another hour until Aeryn appears outside the cave, and the relief to see the elf alive and well is just as great as always. During that time, the most fun he's had is watching Frost trying to approach Vól, only to be chased away, twice.

"Hey. You don't look too roughed up."

"Nah, there weren't that many of them and no traps, so it went alright," Aeryn tells him after tugging his neck gaiter down. He rummages through one of the pockets on his backpack for a small, once-white-now-gray towel, then walks on ahead to wipe some snow off a cut log that acts as a bench near the entrance before he sits down, exhaling deeply as he relaxes. Argis looks him over, and no, he doesn't appear to be injured, but here's a deep frown on his face. Not that that's a new look.

"Something wrong?"

"I'm not sure," he replies thoughtfully and pulls a few pieces of parchments out from one of his pockets. He unfolds one of them while continuing, "I found this letter, and some other documents, that is quite... Fucked up."

"Really?" Argis moves closer to where Aeryn sits, hands resting on the pommel of his sword. "What do they say?"

"The letter speaks about how someone is _'no longer in need for or wishes to pay for your services, as they of lately has not held the same standard that was agreed upon,'_ followed by _'either you provide better quality or our deal is over.'_ "

He unfolds another paper and starts rubbing the black paint off his face while browsing through it. "And this seems to either be an unsent reply or someone's rantings that says _'you can't expect to receive good merchandise when the pay has decreased against the terms of the agreement, especially when re-stocking has become more difficult due to the troubled times.'_ Also, there's this part about _'you wouldn't want them to know,'_ which doesn't make any sense."

Putting the first two documents aside, he brings up a third and swallows. "This one... Fuck, this one's the weirdest, it's an inventory of _'stock'_ , with mentions of _'gender', 'stature', 'tone', 'age',_ and _'traits'_ , and a whole bunch of numbers.

He pauses, ponders while rubbing the towel between his eyes. "And since I found these in a desk inside a vampire hideout..."

"... Ysmir's beard, we're talking about people, aren't we?" Argis fills in, and an unnerving feeling spreads in his stomach. "Were they trading people like slaves?"

"Or as blood bags. There wasn't anyone down there, so I couldn't find out more."

Argis shudders. "Gods, that's horrible! Damn, those poor people. Good thing you cleared them out."

Aeryn hums and pauses cleaning his face to lean his chin on his knuckles, elbow resting onto his thigh. "But, that's not the strangest part. I was asked by the Jarl's closest council to clear these vampires out. Apparently, it was a request from their court wizard, but I never spoke with them personally. Just got the paper when I asked for work, nothing more."

"Why is that strange?"

"Because when I asked if I could speak with the wizard to get more information, I got an excuse that she wasn't 'available' and someone whispered about her 'probably being in the dungeon.'" He looks up at Argis with narrow eyes and a deep frown, paint smeared across his face. "Why the fuck would a court wizard be in a _dungeon_? Also, when I asked one of the staff members about her, he got all agitated and refused to answer me."

"You think she's something to do with the letters?"

"I don't know, maybe? This whole thing feels off to me. And when I started thinking about it, something else does as well; The fort we cleared, Fort Snowhawk?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Jarl Elisif told me that there were rumors of necromancers in the fort." He waves the document around. "Did you see any necromancers there?"

"None."

"So, where did the idea of necromancers come from?"

Argis scratches his stubbled chin and shrugs when no idea comes to mind. "I don't know? Wasn't it just a rumor then? The pirates may as well have had mages stirring up attention in the area. Or the necromancers were there before the pirates?"

"The necromancers can't have been there because the pirates had that place as a hideout for years. I found papers on that," he adds when Argis looks confused. "It was their ship stranded inside the cave, after all. But, sure, maybe it doesn't have to do with anything."

"... But you don't think that?"

"No." Aeryn shakes his head and looks over the parchment again. "I don't believe in coincidences. I don't know, it just... Maybe it isn't connected, but it just feels weird as shit."

"Huh. Well, maybe we'll find out more on the way?" Argis suggests and offers a half-smile at the frown on Aeryn's face.

"Yeah, maybe. Anyway, let's move on. There are a few hours until it gets dark. Maybe we can make it at least halfway to that other cave." Aeryn gets up from the log and brushes snow off of the back of his legs.

"What's that one about?"

Aeryn shrugs. "I not really sure. The Jarl's steward said something about rumors of 'strange lights' coming from it. It's probably full of something that'll want to kill us."

"Doesn't everything want to kill us?"

A chuckle passes Aeryn's lips, and he shrugs. "Welcome to my life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because the only 'Bag of holding' (extradimensional space i.e, where your four full-on glass armors are stashed away while you run up a mountain) we're doing here is for coins, not dragon skulls, two-handed blades, or fifty-eight cheese wheels. Or said armors.


	14. A stubborn mind leads a broken heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Venturing across the harsh lands of Haafingar, the odd duo clears out whatever threats they stumble upon and returns to Solitude, tired and longing for warmth, Aeryn more than that cold-resistant Nord who won't stop pestering him. What's even worse is that Aeryn's starting to struggle to keep to himself when Argis continues to nag him with his existence.

Wolfskull cave was a fucking mess, because why wouldn't it be? Nothing that Aeryn has come across since leaving Cyrodiil was anything but a fucking mess, so why not add a bunch of crazy necromancers trying to summon a dead queen? He's seen worse.

The fact that both he and Argis made it out alive had been nothing short of a miracle; Aeryn was too late to shield himself from an incoming fireball that soared too close to his face, not only giving him quite a burn, but it also took most of an eyebrow and eyelashes with it. 

A Draugr slashed Argis' bicep open; they both got pierced by four or five arrows, one barely missing Aeryn's head. And, of course, one of the necromancers had to summon a goddamn Frost Atronach, which had been mildly amusing to take down on the top of a tower while simultaneously avoiding death from all angles. Though, despite the loss of hairs on his face, in the end, the fight had been fun.

"Damn, I wasn't expecting anything like this," Argis shares as they settle in at the makeshift kitchen they found in one of the many small rooms close to the surface. It's a cold, gray room with no windows, walls built of old, massive blocks of stone, and a vaulted ceiling. Rows of empty, rot-eaten bookshelves fills half the room and adds a delightful, musty odor to the stale air.

Argis arm has healed nicely, the shot-wounds as well, and Aeryn's injuries are barely visible by now. He treats the scorched sections of his face with a similar mixture that he'd given Argis for his ribs, though this one's mainly made from Aloe Vera. Gods, he has to stop thinking about Argis' chest. "Monsters and Draugr, yes, but occultists trying to summon Potema? That's just crazy."

Aeryn hums absentmindedly, not paying him much attention, because he's found fresh apples and is busy enjoying the sweet, somewhat tart taste and crispy texture, which is far more important than that man's ramblings. And hairy torso. _Ugh._ Why is life so cruel?

Coming to terms with the fact that people outside his homeland eats more of the treasures from the Green than meat had been a culture shock separate from, well, everything else that was completely new. He knew that his people are the only ones living by the rules of not harming anything nature provides, but seeing people eat fruits and vegetables and chop wood had been more uncomfortable than he imagined it would be.

It took months before he dared trying anything other than meat and insects, only because vegetables and fruits had been easier to get a hold of, and way cheaper than meat. Also, he learned the hard way that areas surrounding the cities were off-limits for hunting without a permit from the count. At least the prison gave a roof over his head for a few nights.

So, in order to survive with what little pocket money he had, he bought a couple of faded red apples and brown-spotted pears in the market in Leyawiin. He clearly remembers staring at them for an eternity, scared of breaking his oath to Y'ffre, while simultaneously trembling with eager, and hunger. Once he dared slice a piece of the apple and put his tongue to the white flesh, he felt like he'd been cheated on for his entire life.

The taste was _nothing_ like anything he'd ever tried. The flavor, the moisture, and texture didn't resemble anything he knew, and while being filled with guilt, the sensation almost brought tears to his eyes, and he couldn't stop himself from taking another bite. Same with the pears; his teeth breaking through the thin, spotted skin and easily sinking into soft, luscious flesh, so juicy he had to slurp that sugary sweet wetness to keep it from spilling over his lips. Now, Aeryn knows what pleasure felt like, but that had been a mind-blowing, whole-body experience nothing came close to resemble.

While it isn't as earth-shattering after about four years, it's one of the few things he allows himself to fully enjoy, so, usually, he focuses entirely on the sensation. However, this time, he's busy trying to figure out the name of that spice he loves to eat them with.

While chewing on another cut-up piece, frustration grows as he runs every spice he knows through his head, trying to find _that_ one. Because it's not cinnamon, though that's nice, not coriander, not nutmeg or caraway, definitely not pepper, not cinn - no, he thought about that already, not -

"Aeryn?"

The elf snaps out of his head and turns to look at the puzzled Nord sitting across the small firepit. He swallows the piece he's been mindlessly chewing to a pulp. "What?"

"Are you okay? You look troubled."

Geez, doesn't he have anything better to do than staring? "No, it's fine, I'm... Trying to remember something."

"Want to share? Maybe I can help," Argis offers as he pushes another chopped up log into the pit, causing the flames to flicker and spit angrily. He sighs, because of course Argis would want to assist, then cocks an eyebrow, immediately regretting it as that hurt like fuck, and ponders for a moment. He tries again to fish the name from the back of his brain, without succeeding, and relents with a sigh.

"I'm trying to remember the name of a spice that's common to combine with apples."

"I see. Um. Cinnamon?"

"No."

"Hm. Sugar?"

"Sugar isn't a spice," Aeryn points out and gently cuts another piece of the apple. "It's an ingredient. Spices are part of plants."

"Oh. But, sugar is made from plants, yeah?"

"Well, yeah, but, geez." He exhales and rolls his eyes. "Spices are made from _parts_ of plants, like roots, bark, berries, and seeds, like cinnamon and coriander," he explains and waves the small knife around as he speaks. "Herbs are the leafy bits, like sage and basil. Sugar is _created_ by extracting it from a plant, meaning it isn't a plant _part_ in its own, but a plant part that has been turned into something else. So, no, sugar isn't a spice." When Argis doesn't reply, Aeryn peers up from his apple and meets a curious gaze. "What? It's not arcane science."

"No, no, I get it, you just... It sounds like a subject that you care about."

Aeryn jerks his head back, then frowns and regrets that as well. "What?"

The Nord tilts his head from side to side before answering. "I don't know, you... Sounded very passionate just now. Haven't heard you talk like that about anything before."

Goddammit, is he really **that** obvious? Shit. He's usually excellent at keeping his interests to himself, like everything else, so he must've been caught off guard this time. He doesn't reply anything to the claim, instead returns to enjoy the fruit. Argis remains silent as well, thank fuck, while making quick work of a loaf of bread he found in one of the sacks inside the room.

"Is it cardamon?"

" **Yes**!" Aeryn's voice echoes against the uneven walls, and he sighs as the piece finally falls in place. Goddamn cardamon. "Fuck, I had it on my tongue for so long."

"Happy to help."

"Yeah, uh... Thanks." Aeryn replies to Argis' smile with a faint one of his own, then continues to ignore the Nord, who starts talking about some fruit trees growing back home, instead making a mental note of buying cardamon when they return to Solitude.

-

It takes about two weeks before the two rides down the road back to the capital, one more worn out than the other, and while Aeryn much rather keeps on his feet than anything, he's having a hard time hiding the exhaustion from his face. Which, speaking of, has healed up well, say for a small patch beside his now half eyebrow that's a bit more leathery to the touch than the rest. Oh, well, nothing too bad.

After Wolfskull Cave, they stumbled upon a bunch of other caves and forts along the way, and Aeryn, being far too curious and adventurous for his own good, had to check all of them out. It hadn't been that exciting, especially compared to interrupting a summoning. Draugr, a few bears, some bandits, a bunch of vampires, and, oh, yeah, Aeryn met his first Ice Wraith, and with it, the first time Argis didn't rush on ahead with his sword raised. Nope, the Nord patiently waited for Aeryn to loose a few arrows at it, then walked a circle around its remains, shuddering. Apparently, the warrior isn't fearless.

Most of the time, Aeryn kept to himself like he always did, but every day was a struggle to keep his mouth shut when Argis started talking about subjects that interests him. Whenever the Nord asked him about what type of potions he was making, his cooking skills, or anything that didn't cross over to the personal realm, he reminded Aeryn about how much he missed having someone to talk to. Someone to discuss theories and ideas with, who'd listen when he thought out loud about what to spice the food with or how to deal with this whole Dragonborn responsibility. 

There's no doubt that Argis would be incredibly pleased, maybe happy even, if Aeryn responded to the hundreds of questions and opened up for discussions, since it seems to be the Nord's sole purpose in life to get him talking. But, no, Aeryn isn't going to fall for that, knowing what's at stake. Nope, he'll keep his mind and emotions locked away where they belong. In the end, it's for the best for both of them.

"Are we going to stay in Solitude?" Argis asks when they close in on the massive walls, their horses walking at a leisurely pace, them too tired after this long time on the move.

"Only for a night," Aeryn replies and looks out over the endless sea stretching out below them, past the stables and the myriad of islands they crossed a few weeks earlier. The shipwreck comes back to mind, and jabs a stinging fist into his gut. "Unless there are some other jobs, I want to move on after speaking with the Jarl tomorrow."

It's not too late to visit the Blue Palace today, but Aeryn is too weary and filthy to want to set foot in that place.

"Where to?"

"Morthal."

"Alright. Anything in particular we're doing there?"

Aeryn shrugs, eyes remaining on the horizon until a cold gust of wind sweeps by, forcing him to look away as snowflakes hits his eyes. "Don't know, haven't been there before. It's the town closest to here in my general direction."

"I see." Argis hums, and they ride closer to the left side of the road as they meet a couple of patrolling guards. "Where have you been so far?"

Could there be any harm in telling him? Shouldn't be, right? "Riften, Whiterun, Falkreach, and Markarth. And a bunch of places in between."

"Ever been to Rorikstead?"

"Nope. I know where it is but never visited."

"You should, if you get the chance, it's a beautiful small town."

"I'm sure it is."

"It's my hometown, as well."

"Lovely," Aeryn murmurs, busy trying to shove the guilt away to the depths of his mind before it threatens to drown him. "Finally, we're here."

Dragging a whole bunch of findings along, Aeryn makes a beeline through the groups of people for 'Bits and Pieces' to sell all the weight off, the Redguard owning the place looking more than thrilled at the vast amount of things he pours onto the counter. It's mainly small items like gems and jewelry, which, honestly, he'd rather keep, because they are shiny and beautiful, but he can't carry every single pretty thing around that he finds.

"A pleasure doing business with you! Come back anytime," the woman bids them farewell as they leave, Aeryn sighing at the lighter weight as he slips his backpack over his shoulders. It's the only downside to the fluffy cloak Argis gave him; it's a bit bulky underneath his pack, but he isn't complaining. Despite never admitting that he's been suffering from the cold, Argis apparently noticed anyway. He notices an alarming amount of things for someone with one eye who's been chained to a dusty old Jarl.

It's only the beginning of spring, but Aeryn thinks the temperature should have risen more by now. He knows it colder up north, and that's why it's still snowing, whereas the ground had been mostly bare around this time in Whiterun last year. And he's only going to move up further. Great. If the Gods wills it, he won't freeze to death.

On the way to the inn, Aeryn comes upon the beggar that asked him to retrieve his helmet and waves him. As he holds it out, the old, ragged man stares at the piece of armor, as if Aeryn's presenting a lump of gold, before he reaches out to grab it with trembling hands.

"My, look at it," he mumbles and turns the helmet around, studies it. "That's real Nord craftmanship. I can't believe you actually found it."

"It wasn't that hard, really. Glad I got the right one." Aeryn shows a slight smile at the beaming joy in the man's eyes. These are the kinds of jobs he prefers to do, for those who actually appreciate his effort, but he can't afford to be picky. "Oh, and here," he adds and shoves his hand down his purse and grabs a bunch of coins, then pushes them into the man's dirty hand. "This should fetch you something warm to eat."

The man stares baffled at the content in his palm, then back up at Aeryn, who's already taken a step back. "W - wait, don't you want anything for the helmet? You went all the way to fetch it for me, then - "

"Nah, leave it," Aeryn interrupts and waves him off. "I've got enough to stay both warm and fed. You keep that."

"A - are you sure? You don't - " he cuts himself off when Aeryn waves again, then smiles brightly. "Thank you, Divines bless your kind heart, sir."

"Yeah, yeah, don't mention it." Aeryn smiles and turns towards the inn. "Take care."

As they enter the busy building, Aeryn can feel Argis gaze burn a hole through his head. He does his best to ignore it while waiting for the other customers to be done by the counter, focuses on the comfortable warmth contrasting his snow and sweat-soaked armor while listening to the bard singing something about wars and bleeding hearts. It's calmer this hour of the day, with only half of the tables occupied, but the air is as thick with smoke and steamy meat as in the evenings. 

It doesn't take long before the staring gets on his nerves. "What?" he snaps and glares up.

"You are incredibly kind," Argis says with a rumbling sincerity that shoots through Aeryn's armor and into his gut like a flaming arrow. The heat swirls up his face and to the tips of his ears. Fuck. He swallows and averts his gaze when Argis smiles and tells himself that he's uninterested in the stupid hoarvor's opinions. He turns to look at the groups of people sitting and standing in the spacious dining area instead. Everyone from nobility to mercenaries has gathered, chatting and enjoying protection from the awful weather. Aeryn searches the groups in the hunt for someone good-looking enough to sway into spending a few hours with him when Argis moves up to the counter, and he's forced to join.

He sets everything up with the innkeeper and asks for food and drinks to be sent up to his room, organizes for a courier to pick the book up and deliver it to Ghorza gra-Bagol, then disappears up the stairs, not bothering to bid Argis a good evening. He's too weary for that. Though, after a couple of hours of eating, washing up, and drinking himself pleasantly warm on wine, he isn't too weary to return downstairs and entice a dark-haired, fairly strong built Breton with a neatly trimmed beard to join him back in his room.

With luck on his side this night, he manages to pick one who knows what he's doing, and falls asleep feeling pleasantly fatigued and satisfied. The only problem is that he stays until morning, and Aeryn isn't in the mood.

"Oh, you're up already...?"

Aeryn rolls his eyes over by the basin and continues to scrub his face. He tried to kick the man out of bed when he got up to no avail. "Yeah, I've got places to be, so you need to leave."

Silence follows as Aeryn washes the soap off, sighing at the fresh feeling. He's been up for over half an hour, already dressed, and is now busy taking care of his appearance. He hears the Breton move around in the bed.

"So, you're, um, leaving town or something? Anything exciting?"

Gods, why does it always have to come to this? He doesn't want the morning cuddles, or the pillow talk, or the bonding. Well, he does, behind all that denial, but he isn't going to let those feelings erupt and ruin everyone's life.

"None of your business," Aeryn mutters instead, then leans over to get a closer look at his face in the mirror, huffing when he notices a cluster of red spots on his cheek. He'll need to make the cream more potent to keep the blemishes away. "And I told you to leave already. I need to be going soon."

He watches the Breton stir in the mirror before drying his face, then goes on to apply his cream to all of his face and neck, closely studies the red spots to see if they fade.

"So, that's it?"

"Yes." Aeryn sighs and applies some more cream to the spots, concern growing when they don't immediately start to fade. It doesn't help his already throbbing head to start worrying about this. "That's it."

"... Okay. Um. Well, I had a good time, so, if you're around, I'm usually here in the evenings," the Breton goes on, and Aeryn hears the ruffle of clothes. "If you want, of course."

"Yeah, sure thing," Aeryn replies absentmindedly and relaxes when the spots finally disappear. He then goes on to squeeze a few drops of witch hazel oil mixed with chamomile and lavender onto his fingertips and rubs it into the areas around his eyes to make the swelling go down. He stops the motions when he notices the man appearing beside him and glances up. "What?"

"I was hoping that, um, I might get a kiss before I go?"

Aeryn stares nonplussed at the man. A kiss? Why the fuck would he give him a kiss? They're not a damn couple. "I don't do kissing," he replies flatly and turns back to the mirror. "Didn't last night, doesn't today."

"... Okay, um. Maybe I'll see you around, then?"

"Yeah, yeah."

He gets a gentle stroke across the back, and a "take care" before the guy finally leaves him alone. Gods, Aeryn hates acting like such a dick, but it's not like he got a choice, right? He feels awful, but it's the fastest, easiest way to get them to leave. The last thing he needs is someone to become attached. He tells himself that it's for the best and uncorks his hangover-remedy when the door closes, then empties the small vial against his lips.

The putrid taste makes Aeryn gag over the basin, and he coughs as the pasty texture struggles to slide down his throat, forcing his mouth close not to throw it back up. He grasps the bottle of wine by the tub and downs the last of it to wash the horror down. He's got to find something with a more potent to mask the taste of those slaughterfish eggs, preferably something that isn't garlic.

Just as he's stooping over the old piece of furniture, trying to keep the content in his stomach, there's knocking on the door, followed by Argis' deep voice.

_"Aeryn, are you up?"_

Goddammit, that stupid ass Nord. "Yeah," he calls back, voice breaking, and inhales a couple of quick breaths to regain his composure before Argis enters, closing the door behind him. "I'm almost done."

"Sure. Are you okay? Though I heard you coughing."

"I'm fine, _Amil_ , stop being such a damn hen," Aeryn mutters and puts the bottle away, then looks over his face in the mirror, breathing slowly and steadily to keep the nausea at bay. Color's back, puffiness' gone. Perfect. The eyebrow and eyelashes will take a life-time to grow back, though. "I don't pay you to be my caretaker. I've told you a thousand times, you damn nag."

"I'd never let you pay for me to care about you, and you know you don't have to," the Nord tells him, and Aeryn rolls his eyes. Again with the caring and shit. "I was about to order food. Want me to bring you something?"

Sometimes, Aeryn can't help but wonder if Argis just blatantly ignores the insults, as almost everyone else before him gave up within a couple of weeks, all sick of his attitude and lack of sympathy. What else could explain the fact that he's still around? And that he's consistently _so fucking nice?_ Maybe he's just plain stupid. Would make sense.

"... Sure," he murmurs after contemplating for a few seconds. It might soothe his stomach. Oh, right, he needs to remember that cardamon as well. And he needs to buy new socks and a pair of gloves. Apparently, wearing gloves with zero linings isn't the brightest thing when roaming frozen lands. Somehow, he figured the north of Skyrim wouldn't be anything close to the cold of Bruma and that the thin pair he bought in Riften would do him all year round. Well, in the south, it did.

"Want anything particular?"

"Nah, anything will do," he shrugs and tips some lilac water into his palm, rubs it between his hands, and then combs it through his hair, inhaling the pleasant scent. He'd ask specifically for apples if he wanted to share his love for them, but he doesn't. The less Argis knows, the better.

When the Nord disappears, Aeryn turns his head and studies the closed door. He smiles flatly and exhales. "What will it take to make you fuck off?" he asks it, knowing there won't be an answer, and it doesn't bring any clarity either. He keeps telling himself that he doesn't want the concern, the encouraging words, or the goddamn emotional support the Nord keeps trying to push onto him, but, deep inside, he knows he won't be able to ignore it forever. No matter how much he hates it, each time Argis offers comfort or help, it knocks a few grains off the thick wall, he keeps between himself and everyone else. And each time, Aeryn tries to pile them back up, using obstinate denial as mortar.

Even when he tells Argis to leave, he refuses, which, in fact, is considered disregarding his Thane's orders, and he's only allowed to do so under specific circumstances according to the contract they signed. Maybe Aeryn should use that argument next time he refuses to leave him alone?

Still, one thing he can't understand is; what is Argis trying to gain by being so fucking caring all the time, especially when Aeryn isn't giving anything in return?

"A mystery for the Gods," he grumbles and turns back to the mirror. He runs a fingertip across the bridge of his nose, tracing the long since healed scar. "He'll give up soon enough."

Today doesn't seem to be that day, though, as Argis returns with plates of food, and Aeryn fails to hide his child-like excitement for the massive pile of cinnamon-sprinkled apple slices. Has he figured that out too? He quickly sucks his smiling lips between his teeth and glares at Argis, who's looking too fucking smug for Aeryn's liking, and throws a pillow at his head.

Soon enough, though. Yeah. It'll be for the best.


	15. Meddling in the wrong affairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Argis seems to have an awful habit of prying about Aeryn's private life, Aeryn's got a habit of meddling with different types of matters that's got far worse consequences. And he wasn't even trying this time!

_The Blue Palace._

If one ever needs to find a place where people sucks dicks and fakes laughs with more enthusiasm than a poor wench, this is the spot.

Whichever direction Aeryn looks, there are groups of people chatting or arguing, servants skittering across the room with drinks and foods, and he spots a jester who tries to entertain a group of, judging by their appearance, scholars. Poor man should pick an easier audience.

A whiff of vetiver gets caught in his nose, where it stays to mingle with a variety of odors like sweat, burnt fat, vinegar, and smoke from the large fireplaces. _Lovely_. They've just arrived, but they are already collecting curious looks from the palace's visitors, and Aeryn watches them just as intently in return. Especially those stupid outfits.

Women are dressed up in the latest fashion, wearing thick, furry shawls over their tailored coats, one more horrendously adorned with colorful embroideries than the other. Apparently, 'Alchemical accident' is the trend this month. The men's aren't that much better, though the colors are more subdued, they too wear those ridiculously large furs. Might as well carry an entire wolf around their shoulders and save the tailor the work.

"Damn. I've never been inside this place," Argis murmurs as they stand in the grand hall, waiting for one of the servants to come and get them when the Jarl's got time a moment to spare. "It's much bigger than it looks on the outside."

Aeryn hums and looks up at the vaulted ceiling, studies the grand painting. Pity the people who had to hang up there for hours and hours, creating this beautiful piece. It's hard to make out the details from this far, but there's a lot of blue and gold, weapons and shields, and a large portrait of someone Aeryn doesn't recognize.

"How long do you think it took them to finish that?" Argis wonders. 

Aeryn shrugs. "No idea, a couple of years? Must've been a pain in the ass to hang up there all days."

"Yeah. Wonder if -"

"Excuse me, sir," a voice interrupts, and Aeryn looks down, meeting the weary gaze of a servant who looks like she'd rather be anywhere else but here. "The Jarl is ready to see you now. Please, follow me."

Ascending the curved, carpeted stairs for the second time in his life, Aeryn straightens his back and lifts his head higher. It's more of a habit than an urge to impress anyone. He produces a polite smile when he walks past the gossiping court members who swarm their leader like flies on a carcass, everyone wanting their voices to be heard and needs to be seen to. _Disgusting_.

"Ah, our dear Dragonborn! Good to see you," Jarl Elisif greets him from her throne, and Aeryn bows his head when he comes to a stop, trying his best to ignore the buzz of whispers that erupts around him.

_"That's the Dragonborn? I thought he was a Nord!"_

_"Yes, you silly goose, don't you remember?"_

_"I thought he'd be taller!"_

_"Isn't he a bit too young?"_

_"He's quite cute, though!"_

_"An elf, saving our dear Skyrim? Bah, scandalous."_

Always lovely to visit a court. "A pleasure, my Jarl."

"What brings you to see me?"

"Well, first of all, I came to announce that the Dragon you wished to have slain has been taken care of," he tells her and holds his hands behind his back to further puff his chest out. He's spent enough time around parading spoon-fed morons to know the dance. "So, you'll no longer have to worry about it being a threat to your city."

"Oh, excellent news! Falk! Make sure the Dragonborn gets an appropriate award for his brave service!"

"Yes, my Jarl," the unimpressed Nord to her side replies mechanically, then turns to scribble something on a parchment placed on a small table behind him.

"I also came across Fort Snowhawk," Aeryn goes on, actively choosing not to mention the whole shipwreck situation. "That, according to the bounty letter I was given, was supposedly taken over by necromancers, only there weren't any there. The fort was filled with pirates, Blackblood Marauders, specifically."

Jarl Elisif's slim eyebrows furrow, and she turns to look at her steward. "Falk, do you recall me bringing up a matter about this fort? I don't remember ever hearing the name of it."

"Can't say I do, my Jarl. From what I remember, the only place spoken of that necromancers were mentioned was that cave that man from Dragon Bridge spoke of. Varnius, I believe his name was? When we discussed the matter about what that 'strange magic' might come from, we spoke of necromancers, among other potential sources to these lights. And, if I'm not mistaken, the bounty was supposed to ask for aid for this cave, not a fort."

Well, isn't that interesting.

"Isn't that right, Sybille?"

Now, that's a name Aeryn's been interested in knowing the face of. He turns his head to the direction the steward is looking, and a chill runs down his spine when he locks eyes with a hooded woman in black robes who doesn't fit in with the vivid court-members. It's hard to make out any expression on her shaded face, but the cold, stern stare in her eyes is enough to make Aeryn swallow.

"Yes, that is correct, dear steward," the woman drawls acidly, and Aeryn dislikes her already. "Perhaps, there was a simple mix-up with the locations when the bounty letter was written."

The Jarl turns to Aeryn. "Are you certain the letter mentioned his fort?"

"Absolutely. Here, have a look." After a bit of searching through his backpack, Aeryn produces said parchment and hands it to Falk, who shows it to the Jarl. While she reads through it, Aeryn battles the urge to grab his things and run off with Sybille's glaring eyes burning holes in his soul.

Instead, he glances over his shoulder at Argis, who's standing taller and prouder than the Jarl's personal guards, a hand resting on the pommel, eye constantly moving to cover all directions. Guess he really does take this seriously.

"Well, it does say 'Fort Snowhawk' on this," the Jarl confirms, and Aeryn turns his head back to meet her puzzled gaze. "And you said it was inhabited by pirates?"

"Correct. It wasn't when we left, we took care of them, of course, but there weren't any signs of necromancy."

As the Jarl expresses her confusion about the situation, Aeryn notices Sybille twitching in the corner of his eye. He clears his throat. "We did, however, find this 'mysterious' cave that was mentioned, and that's where we found the necromancers."

"You did? Did you find anything regarding those strange lights and activities Varnius mentioned?"

"Yes, you could say that." Aeryn fights to ignore Sybille getting up from her seat and slowly moving out of his field of view. "The necromancers tried to summon Potema."

Silence falls among the court, and it's the first time Aeryn can hear the faint sound of the palace's bards singing and playing somewhere downstairs.

Falk is the first to speak. "You can't possibly be serious?"

"I'm very serious. They tried to bind her to... Something. We killed them all, and in doing so, I believe we interrupted the summoning."

"Kyne, have mercy on us!" Jarl Elisif exclaims and presses a hand to her chest. "Summoning Potema? Who would try and do such a thing?"

"Well, I did find a few documents in the cave." Aeryn squats down again and pulls the parchments out from his backpack. "There aren't any signatures, but they mention what I can only assume is some sort of cult? Here." He hands the papers to Falk. "They at least describes the summoning and location. Maybe it can be a lead to something."

"Good find! We will look into this matter and see if there are any clues as to what these people are up to," the Jarl promises and smiles despite the concern in her weary eyes. "I'm grateful that you came across this. It seems that you prevented nothing but a disaster. Should you ever need something, please, don't hesitate to come speak with me."

"I certainly will, my Jarl, thank you." Aeryn solemnly bows his head. "I also cleared out a group of vampires that your Court Wizard asked for, at Pinemoon Cave," he adds and looks around the area in search of Sybille, who's disappeared. He contemplates sharing those documents as well, then decides against it. It doesn't have to be his business, but he's got a feeling that he's already too involved as it is, so he might as well try and figure this out. "So, there shouldn't be any issues with them, at least for some time."

After getting another wave of gratitude and mentioning the other areas they cleared out, Aeryn descends the stairs a few minutes later with a heavy pouch of gold and an uneasy feeling gnawing in his stomach. Maybe it's the curse of the Dragonborn to stick his fingers in everyone's problems. Speaking of problem.

"You!" a piercing voice snaps through the loud chatter, and Aeryn spins around, Argis immediately stopping by his side. Sybille emerges from the crowd, striding across the polished stone floors, people quickly scampering out of her way. Whatever she wants, Aeryn doesn't want to spend a second in her presence, nervous that it might be his last. Now he understands why no one wanted to talk about this woman the last time he was here. Fuck. Think, idiot, think. She stops far too close for Aeryn's comfort, so close he can smell the dust on her robes, but he steels himself to stay put despite his blood freezing over as her hateful scowl bores into him. Think-think-think-think.

"What did you do in Wolfskull Ca - "

"Sybille, is it, yes? I believe you are the famous wizard of this court, correct?" Aeryn chirps with an annoyingly high pitch and flashes a bright smile, which is enough to catch the woman off guard. He swears Argis jerked at the gross amount of enthusiasm in his voice. "It's an _honor_ to meet you! I have heard _so_ much about you and your incredible skills! I can't _imagine_ the work you must've gone through to work this close to the Jarl - "

"I'm not here to discuss my position! I need to know - "

"Oh, and we found that cave that your bounty letter mentioned!" he interrupts, words falling off his tongue at the speed of a sugar-high titmouse, all while fighting to hide his internal pain from showing. "Got rid of all those pesky vampires for you!"

"... You did? Well, that's good news." The venom in her voice tones down, but the glare remains the same. "You didn't happen to find anything... Unusual in that cave?"

Oh, she's definitely elbow-deep into this business. "Unusual? No, no, nothing _at all!_ Unless you count vampires as unusual, which, to be honest, they are a bit of a mystery themselves, but nothing else! Swept the area up and down, front and back, nothing!"

"I see. Well, I appreciate a job well done. I assume you've been compensated for your service?"

"Oh, yes! The Jarl was _incredibly_ generous and grateful for my assistance! Speaking of assistance, I do have quite a few errands to run; being the Dragonborn is a busy business, I'm sure you can understand, being in service of the Jarl and everything! I bid you farewell, my Lady Wizard, or Mage, and wish you a pleasant day!"

Before finishing the sentence, Aeryn starts backing up towards the entrance, then twirls around on his heels and starts marching out through the door a poor servant throws himself at to open in time, silently praying to every God he knows that he confused Sybille enough that she doesn't follow. The smile plastered on his lips fades the second he gets out in the open, but he doesn't slow down until he's gotten himself lost amongst the many houses and slinks into a slim alleyway. Once he's made sure that they aren't followed, he exhales and drops his backpack to the wet ground, then slopes against the closest building.

"Shit, that's one scary fucking woman." He exhales shakily and rests the back of his head against the cold stones, hands coming up to rub his face. "She looks _just_ like someone who hangs out in a dungeon in her free time. Fuck me."

Adrenaline slowly leaves his bloodstream, and he suddenly feels weary. It's apparent that Sybille's got something to do with that summoning; why else would she react like that? Gods, he hopes he never gets to meet that atrocious woman again.

He takes a moment to collect himself before noticing that Argis is quiet, which is a first, and looks up. His lips flatten at the incredulous look on the Nord's face, then rolls his eyes and turns to study the opposite wall, pouting bitterly. "Not a word - "

" _What_ was that, just now?"

"I said, 'not a word'! Are you deaf?"

"I'm not, I heard you _very well_ back there. Where did you pull _that_ from?"

Aeryn pokes his tongue at the inside of his cheek and throws a narrow glare in the Nord's direction. "The deepest, darkest pits of my culture." He averts his gaze when Argis gets that look on his face, like he's carefully thinking something over, and can almost hear the snap of realization.

"That's how most Bosmers talk, that I have come across," he concludes, sounding a bit shocked. "All very... Hurried and, um... Shrill."

"Sounds about right."

There's another minute of silence that Aeryn enjoys, his pulse still slowing down, before Argis ruins the calm. "... Did you use to talk like that?"

A spark of panic re-ignites inside Aeryn's chest, and he does a horrible job of hiding it, and doesn't get the chance to object before Argis has translated his reaction as an answer. Aeryn wants to claw that smirk off his face.

"You did, didn't you? Did your speech change when you left Valenwood?"

"I've never talked like that!"

"Liar."

"I'm not lying!"

"Then why are you getting upset?"

"Because you're an idiot!"

" _Liar._ "

The anger flaring up in Aeryn's stomach is so intense that he actually inhales, readying himself to Shout the fucking idiot back to his beloved Rorikstead, but there's something in that annoyingly amused look in Argis' eye that makes him drop his breath. Maybe, just maybe, it's because he knows Argis is right, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he's been longing to be seen through. Because it's easier than admitting that he's lying. He shouldn't let Argis speak to him like that, but...

Fuck.

It still doesn't keep him from glaring at the Nord with all the hate he can muster as he folds his arms across his chest.

"... That's private," he mutters, which is the same as admitting that it's true, but he isn't doing that.

"Alright," is all he gets, but judging by the content look on Argis' face, he's happy to have collected another piece of Aeryn's personal life. Dammit.

Since they are in a somewhat private position, Aeryn busies himself by pulling out the money he got from the steward and holds an empty hand out towards Argis. When the Nord gives him a puzzled look, Aeryn rolls his eyes again. "Give me your pouch. Yes, your coin pouch, put it in my hand."

"Uh, okay?" Hesitantly, Argis grabs the small bag from his belt and drops it into Aeryn's palm, and the elf turns to use the protruding house foundation as a table. He pours the collected coins out onto the wet stone and makes a rough estimation of how much half of it is, then divides the pile and shoves one part to the side. When Aeryn opens Argis' pouch and starts flicking coins into it, the Nord finally gets what's going on. "Woah, woah, what are you doing?"

"Splitting the pay, obviously?"

"W - ... Well, yeah, but why?"

Aeryn pauses and tilts his head to study the man. "Because we both did the jobs?"

"Sure, but you don't have to share bounties with me. The sum you pay for my service is the only obligatory one."

"I'm aware." Aeryn ignores him and keeps scraping coins into the pouch, then tugs the draw-string to close it.

"And I'm already indebted to you for buying me this shield, so I shouldn't - "

"Argis." The Nord falls silent, and Aeryn inhales, then holds a finger up. "Just shut the _fuck_ up, and take the money." He gives the man a tired glare.

"... But - "

"It's an order, _Housecarl._ "

Finally, he relents with a disapproving frown, and grabs his pouch, weighs it in his hand. "Still doesn't feel right," he mutters and ties it to his belt.

Fuck this man and his damn morals. "Get used to it." Aeryn shakes his head and packs the rest of the money in his backpack before slinging it over his shoulder, then moves out to check the street. It might not feel right for Argis to take the money, but it definitely doesn't feel right for Aeryn to keep all of it when he wasn't the only one doing the jobs. And maybe he's feeling a little appreciative that the Nord saved his life from the Dragon. "The coast should be clear now. But, before we go."

Aeryn turns around and shoves a finger in Argis' face, forcing the Nord to a sudden stop. "We are never talking about this again."

"About what?"

"You _know_ what."

Ignoring Argis' failure of an innocent grin, Aeryn heads out onto the open streets and leads the way towards the central plaza.

-

They stroll through the capital at a leisurely pace and visits the many shops, though Aeryn actively keeps away from the fletcher, still cautious after spotting that Jaqspur bow on the wall. It's probably just a coincidence, which he doubts, and he isn't willing to risk it. Instead, he visits the blacksmith and buys up the man's entire stock of ebony and steel arrows and sells him his quiver to lower the price difference for a new, bigger one. Apparently, the Dragons roaming this area are a bit sturdier than those pestering people down south.

After paying for everything and leaving, they spend about an hour going through different stores, spending most of that time in 'Valgidius' Books and Scrolls', where Aeryn gets lost browsing through a large section of botany and alchemy books. The store isn't half the size of First Edition back in the Imperial City, but it is a book store nonetheless. He takes forever choosing between Di Rerum Dirennis and Calcinator Treatise, knowing he doesn't have the room to pick both of them, and finally settles for the former. Once he gets up to the counter, Argis has apparently purchased two books for himself, and Aeryn couldn't care less, despite the excited look on the man's face.

They move on to the market, and Aeryn inspects the many different wares on the way towards the clothes merchant. Again, his eyes are glued on the flowers presented on one of the tables. He can't identify them all, but they all must be hardy as fuck to grow in this harsh climate.

"Oh, a brother! Welcome, welcome!" the Bosmerian merchant chirps when Aeryn steps up to inspect his goods and opens his arms. Aeryn rolls his eyes at the irksome pitch of voice. "It's always a pleasure to meet a fellow elf! Now, is there anything special you're - ..." He cuts himself off and looks up to the side, blinking, then down to Aeryn, and cracks up into an impossibly broad grin. "I thought I recognized you!" he exclaims, and Aeryn's eyebrows knit together. "How's the cloak treating you? Warm? Cozy? It suits you very well!"

It takes a second for Aeryn to comprehend what's going on, then lets out a strained laugh. "O - oh, uh, yeah, it's... All good," he replies and unconsciously tugs the cloak a bit closer around his shoulder, forcing a smile at the bright look on the merchant's face.

"Lovely to hear! Now, how may I be of service today?"

"I, uh, socks and gloves? Thick ones?"

"Ah, of course! You're a wandering type, no? Skyrim's a lot colder than the lush forests back home. I thought I'd lose my toes when I first came here!"

Aeryn hums and forces a smile when the man turns to rifle through a box of wares. 

"Here we are, let's see, we'll start with these. These are the options I've got for you," the merchant says as he turns back and places a few different types of socks out onto the folded pelts presented on the table. They are all beautifully decorated with details in colored yarn, like zig-zags and stripes and animal shapes, each pair fluffier than the other. "These ones are made from regular wool, which is, of course, warm and lovely. These are made from hare hair, incredibly soft and warm, here, feel this."

Aeryn pulls his thin gloves off when the merchant folds one of the socks inside out and strokes the fluffy pelt, and by the Gods, they are soft. He wants twenty pairs of them.

"Lovely, right?" the merchant goes on when Aeryn stares at the socks. "My sister makes these, such a talented woman. She used to sew clothes back in Woodhearth. Have to say, the fabric options up north are far more fun to work with! Now, these over here are made from goat hair, which is about as warm as the rabbit ones, not as soft, though. These, though," he puts his hand on a pair of brown socks with white details. "Are made from the hair of those gorgeous, long-haired cows, can you believe it? These are more durable than the others, not as soft as the rabbit ones, but these will keep you warmer than flames in a desert! Unless it's night time, which is pretty cold, of course, but you know what I mean!" He pats the pair.

While closely studying and touching the different types of material, Aeryn bites his lip and ponders. He's about to pick one of the pairs up when he gets slammed into the stand. 

He crashes stomach first into the table, gasping at the sudden loss of air and stumbles when he tries to regain his balance, pushing a few pelts onto the ground before finding his feet. Just as he does, a high-pitched scream erupts behind him, followed by commotion as the large crowd breaks into panic.

Aeryn swirls around, and his brain blanks out at the scene; Argis is forcing a frantic, screaming woman to the ground and holds her down against the slushy cobbles, one hand between her shoulders and the other catching her flailing arms. The woman, dressed in black robes, screams off the top of her lungs but Aeryn can't make out anything of it, or what the fuck is going on.

"Are you alright?"

Wide eyes flicks down to Argis, who appears unnaturally calm for the situation, and he slowly shakes his head. "I, yeah, uh - "

"It was supposed to be _glorious_!" the woman howls from the ground as she frantically tries to wriggle free from Argis' grip, and Aeryn jerks at the fury in her voice. "She was supposed to lead us all to victory, and you _ruined everything!_ Do you have any idea what you've done?!"

As Aeryn still tries to wrap his head around the scene, a couple of guards pushes through the crowd. He can't hear what Argis is telling them, as what little brain function he's got blacks out when he spots a dagger on the ground next to the woman's head. The blade is long, twisted like a slithering snake, almost ceremonial looking, and Aeryn's face blanches when cold panic settles in his stomach, his pulse quickening until it drowns out the world. Dear fucking Gods, what pile of shit has he stepped in this time?

The woman keeps screaming and writhing when the guards take over. Aeryn only makes out single words, like 'return' and 'true ruler', and he watches with the rest of the crowd as she's dragged away. He's still staring blankly when the other market-goers stirs back to life, the scene on everyone's lips, and he's pulled back to reality when Argis softly touches his arm. His head snaps up and meets a deep, concerned frown on the Nord's face.

"You okay?"

"I... Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, just fine, just, uh... Yeah. Fine," he rambles and wets his lips, the cold knot in his stomach hardening. Someone just tried to jab a fucking dagger into his back; he's nowhere near 'fine.' He figured meddling in some matters might have consequences, but not that it would go _this_ far. And he hadn't even gotten involved on purpose this time.

"Right." Argis hums. "Did you get hurt? Sorry about pushing you like that."

Oh, so that's what happened. "I, uh, no, I feel alright," he replies and rubs the sore spot on his ribs, looking out across the crowd again.

"You sure? You're very pale."

"Yeah, yeah, just a little... Shocked," he murmurs and tries to ignore the many pairs of eyes flicking in his direction, mouths whispering about the incident. He clears his throat. "Anyways, um," he turns back to the merchant, who's equally as pale as he is, face frozen into a gawk. He grabs two pairs of socks, the hare and cow ones. "I'll just, uhm, take these."

"... Right! Yes, absolutely, um, yes. That'll be, um, sixty-five gold in total, please."

Aeryn pays the man and shoves the pairs into his backpack, then quickly picks the now wet and filthy pelts up from the ground with a quiet apology before hurrying towards the stables, Argis staying close to his side. 

Frost is anxiously stepping around inside his stable box when Aeryn marches towards it, snorting and stretching his neck to nuzzle his master's face the moment he's close enough.

"It's okay, it's okay," Aeryn says and pats the horse's thick neck. "I'm alright, calm down. We're leaving."

The second they've paid the stable master, retrieved and strapped the saddlebags onto their horses and gotten settled, Aeryn urges Frost into a hurried trot as he takes the lead, not once looking back as they follow the road through Dragon Bridge, crossing Karth River. The moment he finds a clearing, he steers Frost into the forest and kicks the large stallion into a gallop.

Their surroundings are sparse enough for the horse to keep a relatively high speed, and Aeryn lets him lead the way. The wind stings his eyes, naked branches whips his arms as Frost rushes them between the trees, the horse knowing what his master needs of him. He doesn't care where he ends up or if Argis can keep up with him. His only instinct is to flee, to get the fuck away from Solitude and whatever cultist shit he's gotten himself into.

Strangely, running away doesn't feel as unfamiliar as he hoped it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Valgidius' Books and Scrolls' is a made-up book shop.


	16. Sticks and stones but some words breaks your soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argis tries his best, he truly does, but it's hard to know what's best when traveling along a person who's as emotionally stable as the sea. On some days, the waters are calm, on others, they are wild and frantic. And, some days, comes crashing down like a tidal wave, chaotic and furious.
> 
> And Aeryn? Well, he... He tries as well, sort of.

Aeryn is _not fine_.

The fact that the elf still refuses to admit that pokes at Argis' patience like a splinter. He doesn't need reminding that Aeryn is private; he _knows_ , but at this rate, the denial is borderline stupid.

After Argis managed to catch up to Aeryn after they rode off from Solitude, the elf has displayed nothing but distress, continually looking over his shoulder, jumping at every sound. _"It's fine, don't bother,"_ he says while shakily cleaning the tendons of a piece of meat from the evening's catch. _"I said 'it's fine',"_ he insists between gulps of alcohol. _"I don't need your concern,"_ he snaps while polishing the same shoe for the third time.

Each time, the splinter twists a little, creating small cracks in the container that holds Argis' patience, because he honestly doesn't get it. He doesn't get why it's so damn hard for Aeryn to just admit that he isn't 'fine'. It's not like it'll be the end of the world if he confesses that the assassination attempt messed him up.

"Aeryn, _please_." Argis sighs, one hand clutching his forehead before he drags it along his face, his forbearance thinning out. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's alright, but please, stop saying that you're okay when you're obviously not."

To no one's surprise, he doesn't get an answer. Aeryn doesn't stop rummaging through his backpack, haphazardly tearing items out in an unorderly fashion, face scrunched up in annoyance. Argis exhales and turns back to the fire, rubbing the back of his neck. If he'd known better, he would've let the subject slip, but he doesn't, and Aeryn is a confusing chaos of emotions that he can't decipher, despite the years he's been playing mind-reader by the Jarl's side.

"Could you at least tell me if you need anything, so I can - "

" **Shut up!** " 

With an enraged snarl, Aeryn shoves his backpack away, causing clothes and jewelry and small leather bags to scatter out onto the groundsheet. "Why is it so **fucking** hard for you to _shut up?!_ " he bawls, the outburst making Argis jerk back of surprise and from the ear-piercing tone, and he's met with bared teeth and a venomous, narrow glare that drops stones into his stomach. His screaming scares a flock of nearby birds to scatter into the air, and both their horses snort and anxiously steps around on the frozen ground beside the tent. "Can you stop being so goddamn annoying with these fucking questions? I'm sick of hearing your voice _all the fucking time!_ "

A hand frantically searches for something, flaming eyes locked on Argis still, and fists around a silvery amulet. A shimmering blur is all he sees before reflexively shielding his face, and the hard object bounces off his arms. When it hits the ground with a soft clatter, he lowers his arms and gawks at the enraged elf. Did he just - 

"Are you really this fucking **dense** that you can't figure out that I _don't want your fucking concern_ despite me telling it to your dumb face?!" He screams, droplets of saliva spraying into the air, and he throws his arms out. "You're nothing but a _fucking **bother**_!"

Argis stares at him, each word a ragged blade stabbing his gut, twisting, pulling, and thrusting again. He's been immune to Aeryn's outbursts and fury-driven insults, but, today, they crack his emotional shield open and leaves him exposed to the elf's raw hatred and old suppressed memories. _Bother._ It's been many years since he was last called that, but now, it feels like only yesterday. _"Stop being such a bother, Argis, I don't want your help. Go pester someone else."_

All he ever wanted was to ease pain and struggles, to assist in any form that would stop this void of helplessness from growing. It wasn't appreciated then, and it obviously isn't now either. Years apart, it hurts just as much.

As Aeryn falls silent, eyes aflame and chest heaving, so does the world. Where the wind moaned and tore through the trees, it's now dead quiet, all but Argis' pulse hammering in his ears. He tears his gaze away and settles in on the dancing flames without really looking at them, shoulders sagging under the weight of dismission. 

Is he really _this_ annoying, enough to enrage someone into wanting to harm him? The idea is enough to form a lump in his throat. His only goal is to try and help Aeryn by encouraging him to vent about his stress, which is obviously affecting him to the length that he's raging, and at the same time maybe help him sleep a little easier without carrying everything on his mind.

Sighing, Argis loosely wraps an arm around himself, rubbing his arm in an attempt to ease the hurt. Though, what if Aeryn is right? What if his attempts to be helpful are overbearing and irksome rather than a display of sympathy? And, as proof, whenever he invites Aeryn to share his mind and problems, it's always met with frustration and dismissal. Maybe he should back off. Quit trying to get the elf to talk about his feelings when he obviously doesn't want to. Who's he to persuade him to open up about private matters anyway? Gods, has he always been this naive to believe that he can save everyone from their poisonous minds? Silly. No, Aeryn's probably right; he's nothing but a bother, so he shouldn't - 

A small voice disrupts Argis' trail of thoughts, and he turns towards Aeryn, who's curled up into a small ball on his bedroll.

"Sorry?"

"Cardamon. I... I forgot to buy cardamon," Aeryn murmurs, not looking up from the ground, pulling at a small ball of lint on one of his colorful new socks. "I thought I got some, but... But I must've forgotten because of... Of that mess in the market." He quickly peers in Argis' direction, then curls up further. Gods, he looks so small like that, an arm wrapped around his legs, chin resting on his knees. If Argis didn't know better, he'd swear the elf's ears are drooping as well. Like a gloomy _kid_. "I um... Guess it just - I mean, I..."

While Aeryn stutters, the corner of Argis' mouth curls up a little. Right. Missing out on purchasing wares had been enough to tip the elf over the edge. It's strangely comforting, and some of the heaviness lifts from his chest, knowing he isn't the one to blame. Not this time, at least. Not entirely.

With everything going on, the whole ordeal of being the Dragonborn and now having been attacked, Argis can't even start to imagine what stirs inside Aeryn's chest, what emotions are pent up underneath that frustratingly obstinate denial. Thinking about it, it isn't a surprise that the elf exploded at last; rather, the surprise is that it has taken this long.

Aeryn runs a hand through his messy hair, sighing as he falls quiet, and then starts looking around. Argis has a hunch of what he's searching for and hurries to find the elf's wooden cup in the pile of dishes they've collected from their dinner.

He hastily fills it with tea, biting down a curse when burning hot drops splashes back at his hand. With as much agility he can muster, which isn't that much, but he tries his best, Argis tugs his boots off and shuffles into the tent until he's sitting opposite the ball of regretful elf, careful not to crush on any of the things that fell out of the turned over backpack.

"Here," he offers softly and holds the cup out, smiling a little when the elf looks up, eyes widening at the sight of tea. His gaze flicks back and forth between Argis face and the cup, then to the mess on the grounds, before sighing and accepting it. Argis reminds himself that it's not his business, but it's not enough of an argument to not keep Aeryn away from alcohol if he can. 

They sit in silence for a moment, Aeryn still pitifully curled up like a sad puppy locked out in the rain. The thick, beautifully carved cup rests on his knees, held with both of his hands, and he exhales slowly to blow at the rising steam.

"... I didn't mean to... To, um... Explode like that," Aeryn mumbles to the cup, scraping a neatly trimmed nail along a thin swirl. "I'm... Um... I - I'm... I'm... _Sorry_."

The last word comes out as a mere whisper, and Argis wouldn't have made it out unless already straining his ears. Aeryn never apologizes, at least not when Argis is around, and it takes him a couple of seconds to comprehend before a spark of warmth lights in his chest. So, the elf isn't made of stone. It counts for something, right?

"It's okay," Argis assures and offers a soft smile when Aeryn peers up at him, those almond-shaped eyes suddenly big and round, filled with remorse. "I forgive you. I guess I can be a bit too, um, pushy as well. I'm sorry about that. I don't mean to come across as such. I just... See that you're really stressed out, and it's frustrating when you keep denying it, especially when it's this obvious."

Aeryn averts his gaze. "I don't... Like talking about that stuff."

"Why not?" 

"Because it's... It's no one else's business."

"Sure, but that's not a reason not to vent about it when it's clearly affecting you like this." The elf flashes a glare, though Argis can't find any hate in his eyes this time. He looks tired, if anything. "Besides," he adds. "If it gets to you this much, it'll cloud your judgment in battle. Make you sloppy. Like when we left Markarth, remember?"

Again, he's met with silence as Aeryn sips the tea, refusing to look at him. Argis waits for about a minute while the elf fiddles with the cup or scratches the back of his neck before giving up with a deep sigh. "Well, if you ever do want to talk about it, or anything, I'm here, alright? Maybe I can't provide much relief, but I'll always listen."

He gets a hum in response and moves back to the entrance to tend to the flames and get another portion of venison. He glances over at the elf from time to time, but he doesn't move from the spot where he continues to sip the hot content, eyes locked on something in another dimension. Then, after some time, starts picking his stuff back up, folding and sorting it in silence.

They don't talk much more that night or the following day as they continue their ride to Morthal. Argis does his best to get some sort of discussion started without prying too much, asking general questions about ointments and alchemy, but only getting short, disinterested replies. Right, so, he isn't in the mood for talking. _Right._

Later that day, when they've set up camp, Argis notices that now-familiar trembling in Aeryn's hands. It's somehow distinguishable from his usual shaking when he's 'not freezing,' though Argis can't tell exactly what's different. He just knows by now, after seeing it happen several times when they roamed around Haafingar, and it's adding proof when Aeryn uncorks a bottle of liquor. Maybe he forgot about the spice, but he _never_ forgets to stock up on alcohol.

What's an even bigger tell is that Frost comes around and starts nuzzling Aeryn's neck and face, his heavy head coming down to rest onto the elf's shoulder, who, in return, absentmindedly starts scratching the animal's cheek. Most of the time, it appears to be enough to calm him down, and it does today as well, as the shaking comes to an end, and he soon continues to repair his glove with steady hands.

From what Argis has gathered so far, whenever the shaking starts, or whatever it is that causes the shaking, Aeryn uses alcohol to make it stop. Sometimes it seems to take him by surprise, and his breathing becomes hard, and when he can't make it stop, he leaves the camp. So, not only is Argis concerned about what's going on when the trembling starts, but what happens when he can't control it? Is he in danger of choking or fainting? And what if he wanders off and gets attacked? Gods, Argis would never forgive himself if he allowed that to happen, Dragonborn or not.

Also, Aeryn never brings up any of the emotions that stirred up in Solitude. They loosely discuss the incident and the possible connection to Potema, judging by the attacker's ramblings, and Aeryn squeaks a "thank you" to Argis for saving his life, which is nice, even though that's Argis' job, but that's it. Argis, on the other hand, has been feeling alright, as most of his concerns have been focused on Aeryn and if they'll come across others that are upset about them interrupting the summoning. They have no idea about the expanse of this group of people or what they are capable of, so Argis can only hope that they are keeping to Haafingar and aren't spread across Skyrim.

That evening, after ensuring that Aeryn seems okay, Argis decides to enjoy his downtime before setting in for the night with one of the new books he bought back in Solitude, since Aeryn isn't much of a conversationalist tonight. Or, well, he never is, but it's even less than that tonight.

The shop owner had given him a curious look after placing the two romantic novels on the counter, then mentioned something about "good thing anyone can appreciate classics" while wrapping the books up for him. He's been aching to get to them since then and settles close to the fire, sitting almost opposite Aeryn, who's huddling in the tent opening with a cup of warm brandy under both cloak and bedroll, with one of the books and hot tea, appreciative of the calm weather.

The title, 'Trapped in Silk', had been enough to peak Argis' curiosity, and even more so after reading the short description about a royal born woman who struggles to live up to her parents demanding nature, especially when falling in love with a servant, leading her to take drastic measures in order to create a happy future for herself. The premise is hardly unique, and Argis can imagine how it will end. Still, he enjoys delving into stories filled with drama and emotions, love that always manages to find a way against impossible odds. It's all fiction, he knows, but the image is pleasant.

He throws a final glance at Aeryn, who's mimicking him with a book in his lap, splayed open onto the burly layers of fabric, seemingly stable, then disappears into the world of love, back-stabbing, and heartless nobles.

-

Early afternoon the day after, the two dismounts by Morthal's small stable and ensures their horses are comfortable before walking into the city. The cold air smells strongly of freshly cut wood from the large sawmill, the blaring sound of the machinery audible from far away. It throws Argis back to his hometown, remembering the thick smokes from the fires lit during the harvest festival. It's only a few months away, and he's quite sure that he won't make it home in time to experience it this year. Not that he minds, a big deal of this work is to travel, but he'd lie claiming not to miss his home.

It's no big surprise that their presence makes people watch them with wary eyes; this place has never been a hotspot for travelers or visitors, and Argis is used by now to be met with caution.

"Are we staying?" he asks while following Aeryn as he explores the city, offering a slight smile to a woman who stares at them as she passes at a hurried pace, clutching a burlap bag close to her chest. 

"I don't know yet. I need to go see the Jarl and ask around, but if there isn't anything to be done around here, I'd say we move on." He peers over his shoulder, meets Argis' gaze. "I have a feeling we're not welcome here."

Agreeing on that, they walk toward the largest building in the city, the Jarl's longhouse, and Argis straightens as he stands slightly behind Aeryn while he addresses the Jarl, keeping a hand on the pommel, just in case. Being surrounded by fellow Nords is hardly comforting, especially since this stupid war kicked off and turned brothers against sisters.

They leave empty-handed, as the only job the Jarl was able to assign was getting a letter to some captain in Solitude, and Aeryn made it clear that they aren't heading in that direction anytime soon. So, declaring that they won't remain for the night, Aeryn still walks in the opposite direction of the stables and into the 'Thaumaturgist's Hut'.

A small bell tinkles as Aeryn pushes the door open, and Argis flinches at the intense, earthy odor of fungus and wet bark that punches him in the face. Aeryn doesn't seem to notice it as he enters the room and greets the Nord standing behind the counter, then immediately starts investigating the rows of shelves filled with plants and herbs and things Argis doesn't want to know the origin of.

"Let me know if you need any help!" she tells them with a smile, then continues to tend to the two women, who only then stops glaring at them like they're a pair of thieving, murderous spies.

While Aeryn gets immersed in picking up, smelling, and poking at different ingredients, Argis searches for something interesting enough to spend time looking at until he's is done. By accident, when walking over to inspect a few jars with something alive in them, that turns out to be caterpillars and moths and bees, he overhears some of the conversations between the shopkeeper and the two women.

"... for a few nights, but it isn't helping much," one of the women says in a low voice. "The lavender smells lovely, but he still has trouble falling asleep. And, if he does, he wakes up several times in the middle of the night."

"I see." The Nord hums. "Well, there are a few other things that might help. Lavendel is usually enough, but if you like, I can mix in some Valerian root and Scutellaria to make the tea more potent? They both help you fall asleep and keep you sleeping throughout the night."

The woman exhales a forlorn sigh. "Why not? It's not like I've got anything to lose, and Einar is getting more and more exhausted by the mill. I fear he might get sloppy one of these days."

"Well, we definitely don't want that. I'll make a mixture for you, and let me know how it goes. Give it a couple of days, though. The effect might not be immediate. I'll be done in just a moment."

Huh. Well, that sparks an idea or two.

While Aeryn picks a few things to buy and takes his time discussing with the shopkeeper once the other customers have left, Argis checks out a shelf with potions, and turns only when the elf appears by his side.

"All done," he announces and finishes closing his coin pouch. Argis studies him, contemplates, then wets his lips before speaking.

"I'll be with you in a moment if you want to go ahead, I'm thinking about buying something, but I haven't made up my mind yet."

A second passes, Aeryn looking a bit puzzled, then shrugs and turns around. "Alright."

While following Aeryn with his gaze until he exits the building, Argis does feel a bit bad for lying, though it isn't entirely untrue. He hasn't decided on the purchase.

"Need something special?" the woman asks when he walks up to the counter, showing a friendly smile and soft eyes.

"Yes, um, I overheard you talking about some tea that can help you sleep better?"

"Oh, yes, I have a few different variants." She waves at the long shelves on the wall behind her, overflowing with jars filled with dried leaves, bark, and flowers. "Any specific ingredient you're thinking of?"

"Err, no, I don't know anything about herbs. But, um, it was something about lavender and... Valerian?"

"And Scutellaria?" She smiles when Argis nods. "Absolutely. It gives quite the punch, so I don't recommend drinking it unless you're about to go to sleep, might leave you dizzy and bleary. Is it for yourself? I only need to know in order to get the ratios correct."

"I - no, it's not for me, um, it's for someone much smaller than me. Lithe, and about this short." He holds his hand leveled with his chest. She nods and scribbles something down on a piece of paper. "And, um..." He pauses, certain that Aeryn will stab him if he finds out, but he can't _not_ ask. "You don't happen to know anything about what happens when someone's hands start shaking?"

"Shaking? That could be a number of things." She hums and puts the quill down, then hunches to set her elbows on the counter, chin resting onto laced fingers. "What kind of shaking are we talking about?"

"Well, it's, um, I don't know what starts it, but it's usually accompanied by heavy breathing? Sometimes sweating, paling, and... I'm not sure, but I think, um..." He absentmindedly cracks a knuckle, struggling to justify sharing the subject. "... Crying?"

The woman watches him as he speaks, lips pursed in a contemplative pout until something clicks, and her expression relaxes. "Sounds like some sort of panic attack."

"A... Panic attack?" Argis repeats, frowning. "Some sudden panic?"

"Well, it's a bit more complicated than that, but it's connected to a great sense of fear or discomfort. It can be rational or not, but it creates this, hm." She waves her hand around while trying to find words. "Sometimes crippling fear, panic, I suppose, that something bad is going to happen, at it's worse making you think that you are dying, even if there's no threat around. It can be a thought, a memory, a smell you recognize. It comes in all different stages, more violent for some, and can occur whenever. Sometimes, the mere fear of having an attack can trigger another."

Argis scratches his stubbled jaw. He knows about some mental issues, like depression and anxiety, but hasn't heard about anything as extreme as a 'panic attack.' "Huh, so... Is this something that can happen to anyone?"

"Sure can, but it's usually related to some sort of... Trauma, or major stress. Some people are more likely to get panic attacks for being more sensitive to stress than others." The woman stands up and rests her hands on the table-top. "But it's not quite clear." She tilts her head to the side, smiling softly. "Is this connected to your friend's sleep issues?"

The guilty look on Argis' face seems to be enough as the Nord hums, then turns around to the many shelves, hands on her hips. "Well, I don't know of anything that can make panic attacks stop. If it's related to stress, then, hopefully, the tea can help. Though, I do know a few tips on how you can be of help, if you want to know."

Leaving the shop, Argis' got a big pouch filled with herbs for the sleep-inducing tea in his backpack, along with instructions on how much to add to what amount of water. Along with that, folded and tucked away, is a piece of parchment with instructions on how to react in case a person suffers a panic attack.

"You done?" Aeryn asks when he closes in, smiling at the elf who's already mounted his horse and is ready to leave.

"Yes, all done," he replies and walks past to get to Vól. "Where are we heading?"

"North, to Dawnstar. I got this thing just now." He holds up a document that Argis takes once he's mounted and gotten Vól to stand next to Frost, who snorts and turns her head away from the stallion. Moody mare.

"... A Mythic Dawn museum? Huh. Didn't think anyone wanted to bring that history back to life. It's not exactly popular from their point of view."

"Nope. If that opened in Cyrodiil, it would be burnt down before grand opening," Aeryn comments and kicks Frost into a walk. "It's still a touchy subject."

"Have you been there? To Kvatch, I mean, when you lived in Bruma?"

"I um... Yeah, I have," Aeryn answers after a moment, eyes narrowing a little at the spark of interest in Argis' face.

"What's it like?"

"Crowded. People come from all over to visit the museum and look at the spot where the Oblivion Gate popped up, where they erected that huge-ass statue of Inaria, like they're hoping to catch a glimpse of some remaining pieces or something. It's all stupid. Wonder if that poor woman ever got a moment of peace after that whole Hero thing."

"Probably not. Can't imagine you will either, once Alduin is taken care of." Aeryn scoffs. "So, I guess you weren't there to look at the statue, then?"

"Nah, I don't give a shit about that. People crowd Bruma as well in hope to see some remnants in the ground, and not to mention the Imperial City." Aeryn shakes his head. "People swarm that damn Dragon statue day and night. Gets on your nerves."

"Ah. Yeah, well, I suppose I get that. So, you've... Been around, it seems? In Cyrodiil."

"A bit."

"Any city you prefer? I've never crossed the border, so I don't know what any of the places over there are like."

"They are mostly the same." Aeryn shrugs and remains quiet for a while, fiddling with the reins while looking around. They're following the road east, though since leaving Solitude, Aeryn has preferred to ride _beside_ the road, preferably through the thicker parts of the sparse forests. 

It'll likely take them about two, maybe three nights to reach Dawnstar from here, depending on the weather. Argis looks up at the thick, gray clouds sweeping across the sky. It'll start snowing anytime now, nature feeling the need to add another layer to the white-painted landscape. "... Leyawiin was nice, though."

Argis looks down and over at Aeryn, who's chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Yeah? What's different?"

"It's um... I don't know, I liked the architecture. Very different from Valenwood. All the cities are but, Leyawiin stood out more to me. Most buildings are old with thick, dark frames, and the city is surrounded by forests and water. It's quite calm as well, usually raining. The whole city got this feeling, like... I don't know how to explain it, all the old houses and peace and quiet."

"You mean cozy?"

"Uh... I guess?"

"Would you like to live in a city like that?"

"I don't know. I um... Don't think I want to live in a city. If I somehow manage to deal with this fucking mess of a crisis and come out alive on the other side, that is."

"I'm sure you will. You're an excellent archer, clever, and you've got wit. You'll make it through." Argis offers a smile at Aeryn's baffled expression. "And I'll do my best to help keep you alive until the end of it."

The elf blinks and opens his mouth, but doesn't say anything. Then averts his gaze and rubs the rein between his fingers.

"Where would you like to live then?" Argis asks, both to change the subject, and because he's, well, curious. "Would you go back to Valenwood?"

"Fuck no," Aeryn spits, then looks over with raised eyebrows, as if surprised by his own answer, and clears his throat. That's an intense response. Hadn't he been all dreamy when speaking of his home before? "No, I'm not going back. I've seen all there is to see." He shrugs again. "Maybe I'd get a hut in the middle of nowhere, some dense forest where people won't bother me. Live in peace."

"All alone? You don't want to start a family or stay with the one you already have?"

"Yup, all alone," Aeryn insists and looks over with a narrow glare. "Where I won't be pestered with stupid questions all day long."

"Sorry," Argis murmurs and rubs the back of his neck. "Didn't mean to go poking."

"I'm _sure_ you didn't."

Argis drops the subject and goes on to ponder about Aeryn's life before leaving his homeland. He apparently doesn't have much love for Valenwood, if this reaction is the truer one, and again, he brings up this need of being alone. It could be as simple as that, that Aeryn is a loner and enjoys solitude. Argis isn't, quite the opposite, and he doesn't see a reason to stay away from the people he loves more than he has to. Having a job that keeps him away from home is hard enough.

"Can I ask one last question?"

"A last one for forever?" Aeryn asks, lips flattening at Argis' attempted innocent smile. "Or for the hour?"

"Err, well, for a while?"

The elf scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Fine."

"Why did you go to Kvatch if it wasn't to visit the museum or see the statue?"

Argis can't explain it, but the atmosphere _shifts_ , like the air around him turns thick and heavy. Aeryn's expression turns into an unreadable deadpan, just like that strange moment when they left Markarth when he zoned out after a fight.

"Aeryn?"

The elf suddenly exhales, his breath fogging in the cold air, licks his lips, then turns to meet Argis' gaze, eyes glazed over. "Just passed through," he says, _lies_ , and it's like he doesn't even care that Argis gives him that look, that he knows it's untrue. Instead, he turns ahead and pulls his hood up, then urges Frost to speed up to a trot.

Puzzled, Argis follows suit, eyebrows knitted together. Aeryn obviously wasn't just passing through Kvatch, and while the question as to why he went there might be unimportant, what made him react like that?

Lacy snowflakes tumbles down from the thick clouds, dances gracefully in the soft wind as Argis follows Aeryn between the scattered trees, a frown etched to his forehead and one question hot in mind;

What in Ysmir's name happened in Cyrodiil?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kvatch's museum and statue are completely made up, Inaria is mentioned as the Hero of Kvatch/Champion of Cyrodiil.


	17. Persistence is a virtue, obstinacy is a curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whereas Aeryn mostly finds Argis annoying, and tells him about it, constantly, it doesn't stop the Nord from trying, and finally, his persistence bears fruit.
> 
> Also.
> 
> Aeryn finally attempts to get something done about the cold that absolutely _does not_ affect him, which ends in complete disaster, mainly for himself, as chaos opens Argis' eye to a side of the elf he didn't even believe existed.

Just because Argis knows that Aeryn is the most impossible person to get any sort of information out of doesn't make each failed try any less frustrating.

Even more frustrating is the fact that he can't remember being this keen on getting underneath someone's shield of privacy before meeting Aeryn. Trying to count each employer Argis has had throughout the years would be a strain on his memory, and that's not an effort he's willing to make just for the sake of it, but thinking back, not one person pops up as someone he's been curious about. At least not to this length.

It bothers him. It bothers him that he can't quit ruminating on Aeryn's past, about his drinking, his health, all these areas that he's got no business inquiring about. Being as private as Aerys is isn't even an oddity in Skyrim; everyone's got their secrets, and Argis is in no position to demand anything. The elf hasn't asked _one_ question about him in return, so why in Oblivion is it so hard to show the same respect in return? Though, Argis' got a feeling that Aeryn is more uninterested than respectful in this matter.

Maybe it's the curious itch in his mind that urges Argis to keep sharing personal matters and experiences while continuously asking semi-personal questions, despite not getting anything in return. That he strongly believes that, if he shows the way, he'll one day gain enough trust to encourage Aeryn to share something of his own.

And guess what?

_It works._

It's early morning on their second day after leaving Morthal, one of those crisp ones where the air is cold enough to hurt the insides of your nose if you inhale sharply. Despite being the cause of the drastic drop in temperature, the clear sky does make a nice view, and the moonlight helps illuminate the otherwise pitch-black forest.

Where Argis is sufficiently dressed in the basic clothes and cloak he usually wears, say for an added coarse, wooly scarf around his neck, because he knows how to dress appropriately according to the weather, Aeryn is wrapped up in his thick, white pelt, _and_ bedroll, shivering like a dry leaf close to the crackling campfire. He never complains, though, despite the apparent discomfort. No, he trembles and bites his clattering teeth down in silence.

Strangely, though, there's something... Dare he say, _charming_ , about Aeryn's early-morning persona; the way he struggles to blink focus into his bleary eyes, his pained groans when he shifts his stiff limbs, the wide, toothy yawns where his nose wrinkles, followed by the lip-smacking. Like a lazy fox waking up from dormancy. Maybe it's because it's such a contrast to his usual bitter demeanor that Argis's mouth curls up a bit when Aeryn yawns audibly and claws at the white fur to tug it closer around his shoulders, curling up further.

They are in the middle of breakfast, seated halfway opposite each other, when Argis shares a memory about one of the times his brother tricked him into pouring salt instead of sugar into a cup of morning tea, chuckling as he adds, "I chased him out of the house and across our fields until I couldn't breathe, but he was always faster than me. Seemed to be his past time hobby to get on my nerves."

Argis looks up from his bowl when Aeryn snorts and almost drops his fork when the elf nods. "Siblings fucking sucks," he rasps, and pops a steaming potato wedge into his mouth, then sucks the grease off his thumb.

Gawking, Argis' mind erupts into one thousand and five questions while simultaneously cheering in victory and sending anxious claws to tear at his guts. Gods, dear Gods, don't let him mess this up; he's been trying for an _eternity_ to get the smallest details out of the elf. His jaw snaps shut when Aeryn's hooded eyes peer up. "Uh, y - yeah, they do," he agrees with exaggerated nods. "You've, um, been through something similar?"

There's a hint of a smile on Aeryn's lips when he turns to watch the flames fight against the wind. "I've, uh... I've woken up with horned beetles in my bed a few times."

Argis blinks. "... **What?** "

The elf nods. "And a bunch of other insects. He managed to get a handful of stinkbugs into my pillow once." He snorts, then stuffs more food into his mouth, muttering, "Fucking nuisance."

"I'd take a spoon of salt in my drink any time rather than _that_ ," Argis comments and shudders. "Did you get back at him?"

Aeryn nods again and swallows. "Every time."

"How?"

"One time, I um." Aeryn pauses when a laugher bubbles up, a rare sound that tugs at Argis' lips. "I dropped a centipede into the back of his armor." He licks broth from his fingers, then balances his bowl on his knees to hold both hands up at a foot apart, chuckling. "Like _this_ big. He almost killed me that time, once he got his armor off."

Argis squirms at the mere idea of an insect of that size. Having one underneath your clothes? Heck no. "Dear God, Aeryn, that's horrible! I'm surprised he _didn't_ kill you."

"He would have if I didn't run away." Aeryn grins lazily. "He got back by putting a snake into my quiver."

"A _snake?_ Damn, I would've beaten my brothers to a pulp if they even came near me with one of those disgusting things. And that's dangerous!"

"It wasn't poisonous." Aeryn shrugs. "Bit me like... Three times before I got it out, but it turned out alright."

"And you weren't scared of snakes after _that?_ "

"Nah. It bit me out of defense. I was the one flailing my fucking hand around and grabbing it in a tight space." As he speaks, Aeryn opens and closes his left hand a few times. "Guess I deserved it."

"Nobody deserves snakes," Argis mutters and shakes his free hand to try and get the images out of his head. So, he's got a brother. Progress, at last. Is it going to take this long each time for Aeryn to share something new? It's not like he's got anything better to do than try to coax the elf to share, but still. "Do you... Have any more siblings?"

"No. I've only got him."

"Alright, um... Is he still in Valenwood?"

"Yeah." The elf's smile grows. "He's too much of a coward to leave."

"I see. Um, what's his name?"

Aeryn lifts his eyes and meets Argis' wondering gaze, smile melting away, and a few contemplative wrinkles form on his forehead. Argis tilts his head a bit to the side, waits, then he gives up and returns to his breakfast. When he hasn't gotten an answer within a minute, he chooses another path instead. "Is he into archery as well?"

"No, he's, um... He trained to become a scout at first but switched over to astronomy."

"Astronomy? That's quite the step," Argis comments, finishing off the last piece of food before continuing. "Where did that come from?"

"He was always fascinated with stars." Aeryn shrugs, then lifts the bowl to his lips and slurps up the remaining broth before putting it aside. "Showed up to morning practice, all bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived from watching the sky all nights." Drying his hand on a piece of cloth, he adds, "Fighting was never his thing anyway. He left Falinesti to settle down in Arenthia, got himself a wife, and all of that domestic shit a few years back. I think he wrote a book even."

"Really? Wow. Good on him." Getting only a grunt in reply, Argis frowns. "You don't think so?"

"What? Sure I do, I just..." He cuts himself off to chew on his lip. "... Never mind."

"You miss him?" Argis pushes, then bites his lip when Aeryn's eyebrows knit together. "Sorry, that's none of my business." He takes the quiet moment to drop another piece of wood into the fire, quickly retracting his hand when embers burst up towards the sky. "Hopefully, you'll see him again soon," he says instead and smiles a little at Aeryn's somber eyes. "I'm sure he'd be impressed with all the things you've accomplished."

"Yeah, sure," Aeryn mutters and gets up on his feet, groaning as he arches his back, followed by a shiver. He turns to the fire and freezes, gaze locked on the dancing flames for so long Argis starts worrying that his brain snapped. He hums and frowns, then, as if nothing happened, he starts assembling his things.

"Err, are you okay?" Argis asks, blinking as Aeryn gives him a curious look. "You kind of blanked out just now."

"Oh, uhm, I just thought about something," he replies absently and disappears inside the tent. Argis doesn't get anything more, but it's alright, because he feels like he's just won a grand prize. All the weeks he's been trying to reach through has finally given _something_ , and he's still smiling at that when they continue on toward their destination.

-

The day runs by somewhat uneventful, say for the obligatory group of bandits trying to get a fee out of them for passing and a Sabre cat. The sun joins them during most of the ride, though it seems to do little to Aeryn's mood, as he's grumpily denying having any problems with the crisp temperature. Argis pities him for constantly freezing, which he is, no matter what he says. Sure, it's much less now with a proper cloak, but Argis still catches him trembling, especially in the mornings. Though, there have been two instances when the elf isn't bothered by the cold; when he's prowling, and when he's creating potions.

Listening to Aeryn cooking up new concoctions has become something Argis relishes in, as it creates this sort of domestic felicity that reminds him of home. The sounds of glass clinking, dry, crunchy herbs being ground up, some brew puttering over the small flame, accompanied by the elf's humming, muttering, and scribbling, all brings him back to Rorikstead, to hours spent in the kitchen keeping his mother company while she prepared dinner. The smell does differ, though, quite _a lot._ At times, he wonders if Aeryn is making poison rather than ointments.

It's late evening in the deep forest somewhere between south-west of Dawnstar. They spent most of the day exploring some multileveled old crypt where Argis got an excellent opportunity to practice spotting pressure plates, almost getting pierced by a spike wall in the process, and Aeryn taught him how to spot the difference between dead and dormant Draugr. It had been as intriguing as exhausting, and Argis lets out a content sigh from his bedroll where he's lying on his side, head propped up on a hand, busy reading in the dim light when Aeryn speaks.

"Hey, can you, uh... Turn around?"

"What?" Argis lifts his gaze, frowning as he meets a nervous stare in Aeryn's eyes. He's holding a glass container in one hand, wisps of steam rising from its brightly orange content, and a small jar with red flakes in the other. "Why?"

"Just face away?" Aeryn urges, mouth forming a thin line. Argis blinks, then does as the elf asks, shifting around until he's facing the opposite way. He hears Aeryn mutter something, followed by angry fizzing. The elf exhales. "Thank fuck for - "

Then, something _explodes_.

The quiet, early night is interrupted by a blast of glass shattering, followed by Aeryn crying out something in Bosmerian and their horses whinnying in response to the unexpected turmoil.

Startled by the sound, Argis throws a protective arm over his head, then swirls around in time to see Aeryn's contorted face as he's clutching his left hand to his chest, bared teeth clenched. Ice pools in his stomach when the elf scrambles to his feet and throws himself out of the tent, shoving his hands into the deep snow. "Ysmir's beard, Aeryn, are you okay!?"

"Do I look _**fucking** okay?!_" the elf yells, which sets off another alarm from their frightened horses, and Argis barely gets his boots on before he's out of the tent, dropping to a knee by Aeryn's side.

"Damn, what happened?"

"The fucking thing exploded, weren't you there?" Aeryn snarls and glares in Argis' direction before his face scrunches up again, followed by a pained whine.

"I distinctively remember you telling me to look away."

He gets an annoyed huff in response, then they both turn their attention to Aeryn's trembling hands as he lifts them up. The nearby flames melts the snow away from his palms and reflects in a nerve-wracking amount of tiny shards lodged into his furiously red skin, illuminating them like a handful of diamonds.

"Shor's bones, Aeryn," Argis exhales, then tries to swallow the distress. "We need to get those out before you can heal properly."

"There's... No - no need, I'll manage - "

"Oh no, you're _not_ pulling that 'I'm fine' bullshit on me this time," Argis objects, already on the way up. "You've got splinters all over your hands! Can you even use your fingers?"

Most likely out of spite, because Argis knows him that well already, Aeryn attempts to curl his fingers. They barely bend before he whines, then gingerly buries them into the snow again, refusing to meet the 'I-told-you-so' look on Argis' face.

"Do you have anything to get those out with?" He prompts and barely makes out the muttering response of "tweezers in backpack." He brushes snow off his knees. "Need help?"

The elf doesn't, because of course not, not even when realizing his trousers are covered in snow, or that he sprang out into the snow in his socks. No, he'll rather go through the pain of brushing snow off his legs with the back of his hands, then plop down just inside the tent and brush the rest off his feet.

"Stubborn," Argis grumbles as he grabs the bucket of water and squats down before the elf. "Hold your hands out."

He replies to the scowl with a stern, pointed glare, tired of this endless game of 'independence', and carefully rinses Aeryn's palms once he quietly yields.

Entering the tent to get the tweezers from Aeryn's backpack, Argis stops at the sight of the mess after the blast. Whatever concoction Aeryn was working on is splashed everywhere on the elf's side of the tent.

As he's about to reach for Aeryn's backpack, his heart stops. The dark spots on the elf's bedroll and the back of the tent aren't wet spots; they're _burn marks_.

" _Gods_." He spins around and almost bumps into Aeryn, who's also inspecting the disastrous result. "Let me see your hands."

Ignoring whatever argument the elf spits at him, Argis motions Aeryn's shaking hands up closer to his face and the lit lantern hanging in the ceiling, sucking in a breath at the sight of blotches of damaged, burnt skin, swelling and pooling blood.

"Sit down, I'll get those tweez - oh, damn."

Lifting his gaze, he discovers a handful of shards and furiously red spots on Aeryn's face. He catches the elf's wide eyes and tries to suppress his concern. "You've got a bit of a mess on your face as well," he says, and Aeryn's expression turn panicked, so he hurries to add, "It's nothing bad! Nothing like your hands, just, uh, a few... Shards. Um, how about you sit, alright?"

With directions, Argis locates the small instrument, a few pieces of clean cloth, and a pouch filled with containers. Bringing a lantern and some water, he sits down facing Aeryn on his bedroll, who's currently trying to get his soaked socks off without using too much of his hands. It's almost as amusing as it is tragic.

"How's it going?"

" _Shut up_."

"Aeryn, you're being ridiculous. Let me take them off, or we'll be here until dawn."

"It's _fine_."

"Mara's mercy, you're bleeding all over yourself and ruining your socks, _and_ you're making the wounds worse. Are you **really** going to insist this time?"

Aeryn stills, staring at his feet, then inhales slowly. He straightens and turns his head away, muttering a 'fine'. It's such a silly display that Argis has to suppress a laugh before motioning the elf to lift one of his feet. Goddamn kid.

Judging by how much Argis struggles to get the socks off, Aeryn would never have managed on his own, and after placing them near the fire, he grabs his cloak and tucks it as best as he can around Aeryn's cold feet after the elf has changed to a cross-legged position, thankfully not met with objections this time.

"Alright, how about I get your face first?" He suggests, placing pieces of thick fabric underneath Aeryn's hands to keep the blood from soaking his trousers. "It's just a few pieces. It'll only take a minute."

The elf nods and Argis leans in a bit closer, looking over the small wounds, and reaches his hand out to help steady Aeryn's head when the elf jerks away with wide eyes.

"What are you doing?"

"What? I need to hold on so I don't accidentally stab you with these things."

The elf swallows. "Do - do you have to?"

Argis sighs and rolls his eye. Gods, there's no time for this obstinacy; the elf is bleeding, he's cold, and unless Argis gets the shards out, he won't be able to heal. "Aeryn, for this once, can you please stop - "

He cuts off when he meets Aeryn's timid, misty eyes and gets a whack in the back of the head. He _has_ to be patient. Aeryn is in pain, has an ego the size of a mountain, and hates being touched. He can't be too pushy, no matter how frustrating the elf's behavior is.

"... I'm sorry." He exhales, relaxing into a gentle smile. "I just... Want to be as effective as possible. I don't mean to sound, um... Insensitive. Look, I'll have better control of what I'm doing if I hold on, okay? You're shaking and might twitch, and I don't want to hurt you. Please?"

Still hesitant, Aeryn wets his lips and looks down at his hands, then closes his eyes and gives another nod. He flinches and goes stiff when Argis touches his face, and it tugs at the Nord's heartstrings. He forces potential scenarios as to what he might've been subjected to out of his mind and focuses on swiftly removing the shards.

As he picks and cleans, Argis guides Aeryn's head from side to side. It's the first time he notices the new piece of jewelry in his nostril, the ring he bought in Solitude, the amethyst gleaming when hit by the light. So much coin for such a small trinket.

"Alright, all clean," he announces and puts the tweezers away. "Now, which one of these do I use?"

Argis holds up a total of seven different jars and flasks from the pouch until Aeryn finds the ones needed, then instructs him on how to use them. Softly, he dabs the cuts with an oily substance, humming apologies when Aeryn twitches, then proceeds to smear some green, sticky cream onto the burnt spots. While angling the elf's head to the side, he brushes his thumb along his jaw and knits his eyebrows together. Damn. It really is as soft as it looks. Must be all of those creams. Compared to Aeryn's silky skin, Argis' weather-worn face is rough enough to grate carrots on. Speaking of, he really needs to get his beard trimmed; it's getting itchy. He never got the chance to get his hair cut in Solitude either, so maybe he can take care of both in Dawnstar.

"There, all done." He closes the lid on the jar and dries his finger on one of the cloths. "How's that feeling?"

"It's alright," Aeryn says, eyes fluttering open, and he scrunches his nose as to feel his face. He then shifts focus to his hands, swallowing at the sight. "What a fucking disaster."

Argis holds in a sigh. "What were you making?"

"A potion."

"Yeah, I guessed, but what kind of potion?" Argis settles with his legs crossed and holds a hand out in invitation.

"It... Was an experiment," Aeryn says and extends his left hand, hesitating for a few seconds before resting it into Argis'. "I wanted to try and make something against the cold."

"Like frost resistance?"

"No. Or well, kind of, but those only protect from physical frost damage. I want something that stops the cold altogether."

"You mean so that you'll stop freezing because of the temperature?"

When Aeryn doesn't immediately answer, Argis briefly looks up to see a pout on his lips. "... Yes."

"I see." Well, it only took him a couple of months to finally admit that. It's a small win.

The second Argis grabs Aeryn's shaky hand to stabilize it, the elf hisses and squeezes his eyes shut. Argis sighs with a lopsided smile. "I'm sorry, this isn't going to be very pleasant. I'll try to be quick."

Aeryn nods and sucks his lips between his teeth, muscles in his neck straining when Argis starts the tedious task of plucking bits of glass from his palm. "So, what went wrong?"

"I guess I either added too much fire salt, or it just wasn't compatible with the other ingredients," Aeryn says between pained whines and sharp inhales.

"Maybe you should've used gloves?"

"I don't like wearing gloves when I mix stuff. I need to - ..."

"Need to...?"

"... I need to get a feel of what I'm working with," he adds after a moment, snarling when Argis grips tighter to hold his hand still and continues between gritted teeth, "It's not the same with gloves. I can't feel any of the reactions or the temperature."

Argis apologizes, then hums. "Makes sense, I suppose." He takes a quick pause to stretch his back out before bending over again. "Were you trained in alchemy back in Valenwood?"

"No."

"Is it more of a hobby, then?"

"... Why do you ask?"

"I'm just curious," Argis admits, as always, and looks up, smiling genuinely as he wipes the tweezer clean of blood. Aeryn doesn't add anything, instead keeps watching Argis work with a thin sheet of sweat on his forehead.

They remain silent while Argis finishes the work. He moves away to get more water, quickly washing off his own hands as well, then sits back down to get as much of the remaining blood and stains off as possible. He repeats the procedure with the ointments and uses his thumb to gingerly stretch the swollen skin out to get it everywhere needed, mumbling apologies for the discomfort.

"Have you done this before?" Aeryn asks suddenly. Argis peers up, blinking, then chuckles.

"Yeah, a couple of times," he says while letting go of Aeryn's hand in order to take care of the other. "My younger brother always got hurt when we were kids. Some of the times might have been my fault." He shakes his head with a smile. "I've spent hours picking splinters, nettle needles, gravel, and Ysmir knows what from his knees and hands and elbows. "

"Sounds tiresome."

"Nah, it was alright. He'd never admit it, but he was grateful for it, at the time, when I helped him out. Makes good experience for these types of situations as well."

More silence follows until Aeryn's other hand is done, and Argis finishes up by loosely dressing both of them to protect the upcoming blisters. "There, all done. How does it feel?"

"Better," Aeryn murmurs, followed by what might be a "thanks," but Argis can't really make it out. The poor elf is pale and breathing shakily, his eyes misty, but no tears fall down his cheeks. He must be pouring so much energy into keeping himself composed that it'll be a miracle if he manages to stay up half the night. Though Argis stops reflecting over that when Aeryn doesn't retract his hand.

He remains still while Aeryn stares at their hands. Just stares while his breathing becomes steadier and the color slowly returns to his gray face. Argis finally gets his attention by lightly rubbing his thumb against his wrist. The elf flinches, and shocked eyes dart up, meeting Argis' soft gaze. "You okay?"

He blinks and lightly shakes his head. "Yeah, uh... Yeah, it's fine, I just..." He retracts his hand and pokes his cheek with his tongue.

"You sure?"

" **Yes**."

*

"Alright, alright," Argis mumbles and proceeds to tidy up around them. Aeryn's got an odd view of what 'fine' is. He gives the elf some space and continues on the previous subject once he's gotten a moment to collect himself and for more color to return to his face. "So, where did your interest in alchemy come from?"

"I, uh... I didn't care about alchemy until I came here. It became a necessary thing. Got some training in Riften, then I went on my own."

"Oh?" Argis frowns. "Don't you have a book on plant properties from Cyrodiil?"

"Uh, yeah, I do."

"But you weren't practicing any alchemy back then?"

"Nope."

"So...?"

Aeryn clears his throat and flicks nervous eyes at Argis, then looks back down as he wets his lips. "I just... Like flowers."

"Because of their properties?"

"Well, uh, that too."

"'That too'? What else, then?"

When Argis doesn't get a reply, he looks up from the bag and finds Aeryn staring at him in puzzlement, and when Argis pops an eyebrow, Aeryn's pupils dilate, and he _blushes._

A dark flush swirls up his cheeks, tints the tips of his ears, and he ducks his head away, stammering something about colors that Argis doesn't quite pick up, because he's busy staring like an idiot. He can't help it; the contrast is so sharp to the daily frowning and bitter retorts, just like back in Solitude, that it throws him off completely; the quick, high-pitched laugher, voice cracking, the way the elf manages to look everywhere except at him, the nervous smile. It's... Gods, it's so _sweet_ it makes Argis' nerve ends tingle and floods his chest with waves of warmth that he can't decipher properly. It must simply be the relief of seeing Aeryn display an emotion that isn't fueled by anger.

It feels nice, no matter the reason, and it brings the corners of his mouth up into a grin that widens when Aeryn falls silent and curls up to hide his face against his knees. Sweet Mara, where did this side erupt from? How many layers does this guy have?

Argis clears his throat. "I'm sorry - "

"Shut up," Aeryn squeaks miserably into his lap, and Argis chokes a chortle. Ysmir, give him strength; this is too much. While it's hardly the first time Argis has been caught off guard by one of Aeryn's shifting moods, it's definitely one of the more, um... Well. Pleasant ones.

Argis stays silent while he moves around and puts all the things back, cleans his hands and the tweezers, throwing glances at Aeryn now and again while smiling at the sight of him slowly uncurling and regaining his composure. Poor thing looks a little lost. Once done, Argis settles just outside the tent and grabs a slab of wood from the pile. He weighs it in his hand, contemplates putting the question out there, before feeding it to the flames. "You, um... You said something about 'colors'?" It's risky, and Aeryn's look of weary annoyance is enough of a tell that he might regret this. But, goddammit, he's too curious. He shows his most genuine smile, hoping it'll ease the darkness in the elf's eyes.

Aeryn's tongue darts out to lick the corner of his mouth before his lips curls inward. He averts his gaze and clears his throat. "It's, uh... Yeah, well, I just..." He cuts himself off and swallows, then continues in a strained tone, "I... I Like... Colorful flowers." He inhales deliberately, and Argis can sense the hesitance, absentmindedly holding his breath while Aeryn seems to fight for the following words to come out, "I think they're, um... Pretty."

Pretty. Aeryn thinks colorful flowers are _pretty._ Aeryn. Likes _flowers._

It suddenly makes sense that the elf was clutching his chest while gushing over the bouquets in Solitude, but... Feeling stupid for admitting it, Argis never once thought that this exasperated guy might have a soft spot for anything. Of course he does; he isn't made of stone, obviously, but, yet again, the contrast is astounding. It only shows how little Argis knows about him, and this sudden reveal, of sorts, shouldn't enthuse him as much as it does.

When the elf shifts uncomfortably, Argis stores 'colorful flowers' away together with 'apples' and 'butter-drenched bread' and clears his throat. "Alright, um, well, colors are nice, I guess," he offers and shows an apologetic smile when Aeryn rolls his eyes. "I haven't looked at flowers, really."

Aeryn turns his head a little, a curious look on his face. "... Never?"

"Nope." Argis shakes his head and meets those timid green eyes with a soft smile. "Maybe you can point them out to me, so I'll pay them more attention in the future?"

And, just like that, Aeryn's face goes back up in flames, and he angrily curses Argis to the Void before turning his back to him. Argis grins as that comforting, puzzling warmth returns to his chest.

Definitely not made of stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (And hey, Eman, if you're lurking around, I hope you're doing okay)


	18. Sunshine, lavendel and headaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As adamant as Argis is to gain Aeryn's trust and, hopefully, somewhere along the way, help set him on a course away from alcohol, the elf seems to do everything he can to put a stop to the Nord's personal quest, purposely or not. And he is starting to experience the true hardship of dealing with an addict, with all his wondrous moods.

It's not an easy feat, convincing a hyperactive, restless, injured person to sit still and stop trying to engage in absolutely everything. Now, try that with someone too stubborn and proud for his own good and add a sprinkle of unpredictable mood-swings.

It takes several conscious breaths for Argis to keep his calm when Aeryn snaps and lashes out for the third time this late morning, arguing that he's capable and doesn't need doting. Argis, again, has to convince the elf that he isn't doting and that he is capable of taking care of the camp alone, also adding the fact that Aeryn's hands haven't healed properly yet. Again.

It doesn't help that the elf hasn't slept properly either, less than usual due to the discomfort of his hands, which also makes him more irritable than usual. Argis has learned that mornings are a sensitive time and now makes sure to leave Aeryn alone until he comes out of the tent, realizing after the sixth time he'd been threatened to death if not shutting up that he might end up murdered one morning.

"Don't you think I've managed before you insisted on coming along?!" the elf goes on and flings his arms out, face flushed with anger. "For fucks sake, I can take care of myse - "

"Do you want some tea?"

The sudden change of topic is enough to interrupt Aeryn's heated rigmarole, explaining how he absolutely does not need Argis' assistance in any way, shape or form, and he blinks, lips parted, while Argis goes ahead to dig out his newly bought package of herbs from his backpack. He's mainly making it for himself in hopes of preventing his stinging headache from blooming into a full-blown migraine, but maybe the sedating feature is enough to calm Aeryn's flaming mood as well. Gods, maybe he is doting a little?

"I - _what?_ "

"I bought some back in Morthal," Argis says as he checks the piece of paper the alchemist sent along with the measurements before filling the kettle with water and hanging it over the roaring flames. "She had such a big collection, so I figured it would be nice to get some variety. Not that I mind the tea you blend." It's a lie, and it doesn't feel all too good, but Aeryn lies with every other breath, so Argis clings to that as a reason to ease his guilty conscience.

He glances up at Aeryn's confused expression and shows a weary smile. He spent last night convincing Aeryn that they'd stay put for the day and give his hands a chance to heal, therefore waking up with a, still, throbbing head from the hour of arguing, and this continuous yelling isn't helping either the ache or his thin line of patience.

"What - w-why would I want tea? Don't change the fucking subject!"

"Aeryn, please, you've been angry at me the _entire_ morning." Argis sighs and rubs the sore spot on his forehead. "I _know_ that you don't need my help, but I'm here, and I can do everything so that you don't have to, so your hands can rest. Can't you just let me?"

"I **don't** want - !"

" _Please_ , stop yelling," he begs as another burning blade stabs his head. "I can hear you, and whatever monsters and bandits lurking around can as well." There's a plea in his eye as he meets Aeryn's flaming emeralds, somewhere appreciating the miracle of them not having been attacked yet as the elf's shrill voice echoes across the forest. "I have a headache and _very_ little patience. Now," he settles comfortably on his furry mat, cross-legged, and opens the pouch. "Do you want tea or not?"

The elf's nose and eyebrows wrinkles in anger, his entire body stiff where he stands on the opposite side of the fire. He inhales sharply and holds the breath while glaring, and Argis decides to ignore him. He measures the pleasantly scented blend of herbs, using a quarter of the prescribed amount, and tips it into the kettle, hissing as he accidentally nudges the hot iron, which triggers another pang of pain. _Great._

Silence remains between them as Argis doesn't have the will or energy to deal with another furious rant and rests his forehead in his palm, elbow supported on a knee, and exhales slowly. The throbbing radiates into his hand, pain sparking like small jolts of lightning inside his skull. A part of him is ironically impressed by Aeryn's capability of driving him to the end of his forbearance over and over again without seemingly putting much effort into it. The other part is beginning to question if it's worth it.

He's not going to give up. He knows how much is at stake; their entire _world_ rests on Aeryn's shoulders, demands that he pushes on for all of their sakes. That he's willing to sacrifice himself for them. Argis doesn't know if Aeryn is; he doesn't know anything about if there is a plan to end this reign of terror the World-Eater rules or how much time is left before they are all devoured. He knows nothing.

Nothing other than the fact that if he doesn't support Aeryn all the way to the end, there's a risk that no one is coming out alive on the other side.

Damn, it shouldn't be this complicated. He shouldn't be this invested in someone, especially not in someone who's one goal in life seems to be to push everyone away. It'll be nothing other than painful, and he _knows_ that, but, still, there's this feeling in the depths of his chest that urges him to keep trying, to not give Aeryn the pleasure of winning this endless, one-sided war. He just needs to find more reasons to keep at it.

Argis closes his eye, ignores the sounds of crunching snow as Aeryn moves around the camp, ignores his existence entirely. Alarik would know how to deal with this. That man somehow knew the answers to all of life's questions as he always had a word of wisdom to share when asked for, and when not. Argis needs that now. A motivational push, assurance that it's not all in vain. Along with one of those bone-crushing hugs.

But, he isn't here. No one is here other than Vól and, while being a most trusted companion, isn't much support in these matters. He wonders if Aeryn can ask Frost for suggestions. Maybe that's why he hasn't gone mad from traveling alone. Argis sure knows he would without company. Though, the company he's got now is doing an excellent job of driving him towards insanity.

Shifting focus back to the world, he hears Aeryn shuffle around inside the tent, ignores it, and listens to the wood snap and pop, splitting under the heat, accompanied by the faints sizzling of puffy balls of snow melting against the stones forming a protective rim around the fire. His mind pulls him back home, back to the large kitchen with the expansive, sunken firepit and the array of pans, utensils, and stacks of cutting boards cluttering the capping stones, the overhanging rack holding a simmering pot of stew or meaty soup. The scent filled each floor of the house, luring him and his brothers out from whatever room they were holed up in to gather and eat. It feels like a lifetime has passed since then, even more so as he's battling this excruciating headache, filled with itching frustration over Aeryn's unstable mood that forces him to keep on his toes, all while not being outfitted with any kind of skills to deal with whatever the elf is going through.

Maybe it's because of the ache that everything feels draining this morning. He's done his best since waking up to keep a good spirit, but the yelling and anger and doubting if he's fit to deal with this mess of a person is taking its toll. He's _tired_. Perhaps standing guard in Markarth wasn't so bad after all?

When the air around him fills with a pleasant aroma of lavender, he braces himself with a deep breath and opens his eye. The firelight reflecting from the snow forces him to blink to adjust before he sits back up straight. Aeryn is there, sitting on his spot, wrapped up in his cloak, curled into a white, fluffy ball, looking exhausted. Argis can't imagine it being anything but draining to continually flip between emotions as he does, especially as it seems to happen outside of his control. He doesn't get it, though, why it would be so hard to simply not blow up about... Well, anything. He's in too much discomfort to try and figure it out anyway.

When he shifts, Aeryn lifts his head a bit, displaying a look similar to that time before, after he exploded about that spice he forgot to buy; big eyes, sloping shoulders, chewing on his lower lip. Argis doesn't bother to keep his gaze, instead focuses on filling his cup without burning his fingers again.

"... What tea is it?" comes a small voice as he pours the boiling content, breaking the strained silence and invites conversation. Yeah, he's feeling guilty alright, for as much of a shapeshifter the elf appears to be when it comes to blending in with different crowds, he does an awful job of hiding his emotions. Unless...

Argis puts his cup down and looks over at Aeryn again as the thought strikes him, meets that uneasy gaze that flickers away. For a few seconds, the throb disappears as a small light of hope, or wishful thinking, is lit. What if he's stopped hiding? What if this is all a painfully open, vulnerable display of the true side of Aeryn's struggles with stress and pressure? Maybe he's always like this, but has kept his emotions under a heavy lid to either keep Argis out of it or to protect him from it. And now, after this time together, he's comfortable enough to let the restraints drop and lash out. It might be a long shot, but... _What if_ Aeryn is actually starting to trust him?

Clearing his throat, Argis looks down at the pouch of herbs by his side. "It's lavender and, um." He pauses as the ingredients slip his mind and immediately gives up trying to remember when pain sparks behind his forehead. "... A root of some sort? I don't remember. It sounded nice, though." He shrugs lightly. "Do you want some?"

"I, uh... Yes."

Instead of arguing this time, Aeryn simply watches as Argis takes his cup and fills about half of it to make sure it isn't too heavy for him to hold with his injuries, then passes it over to the dressed hands sticking out from the bulky layers. He more or less forced his help upon the elf earlier in the morning when it was time to add more healing goop and re-wrap them with clean cloths after watching him struggle for five minutes to open the jar.

"You got it?" he asks when Aeryn carefully wraps his fingers around the cup and slowly lets go when he nods, making sure he doesn't drop it.

"... Thanks."

"You're welcome," he replies and shows a half-smile before giving his own tea attention. God, he hopes this eases the pain.

It does, at least a little, though Argis couldn't know if it's because of the herbs or his intense wishful thinking. He's grateful nonetheless when it takes the edge of the ache and, after making sure that Aeryn's got whatever he might need, he goes back to sleep, praying that the remainder of the throbbing will disappear.

-

Rays of sunshine breaks through the thin, smoke-like clouds when Argis wakes up and thanks Ysmir for the lack of pain hammering inside his head. It's still sore, but at least it's not crippling, which immediately does good work on his mood. He stretches out on his bedroll, groans as his spine pleasantly cracks and pushes his makeshift blanket, his cloak, aside. As always, the first thing he does is to make sure that Aeryn is alright, and props himself up on an elbow to see that ugh, _goddamn it_ , he's **gone**.

"Aeryn?" he calls, getting no response. "Shit."

Panic sparks inside Argis' chest, and a thousand different scenarios comes crashing into his groggy mind; has he been taken, wandered off, is he having another attack, has he been lured away, has he collapsed, and they go on as he scrambles to get his boots on and heads outside.

The former throbbing of pain is replaced with the throbbing of his pulse as he swirls around in every direction, forcing his bleary eye to adjust to the sudden bright light. Nothing moves in the dense pine forests and the frozen meadow stretching out between the trees before their camp is inhabited by a family of deers. No sight of the elf.

"For God's sake, Aeryn, you're _not_ in shape." He sighs and combs a hand through his disheveled hair, a deep frown forming on his face. It takes a second before noticing that Frost is missing as well, which is both relieving and more worrying. Dammit, what now? He can't go looking and leaving their camp exposed to predators and thieves.

"Aeryn?" he calls and scares a couple of squirrels up a nearby tree, his voice echoing in his head doing nothing good for his remaining headache. The forest remains quiet. _Shit_. His chest tightens as he starts imagining the worse. He calls again, louder, strains his ears to any sound, waits. _Nothing._ "Aer - !"

_"Here!"_ an answer finally sounds somewhere behind the thick, snow-clad branches, and the relief makes Argis' shoulder slump.

"Thank Mara," he mumbles and drags a hand across his face. This is becoming a horrible habit. "Are you okay?"

_"Fine!"_

" **Fine** fine or _fine_ fine?"

_"I'm **fine!** "_

"Alright, alright, just checking." Argis yields and gets down to grab his cloak. The adrenaline slowly melts away, even more so when he can hear the crunching of footsteps accompanied by a horse's snorting breaths. "You know," he says as he crawls back out from the tent, cloak in hand, once the steps come to a stop near him. "If you tell me before leaving, I won't have as much of a heart attack when I notice that you're gone." He looks over at Aeryn, who's hugging a bowl of red berries to his chest, clearly failing the whole 'let your hands rest' ordeal, which was the sole reason they still haven't moved on, and Argis exhales slowly to push the annoyance aside. The elf blinks, then huffs.

"Well, I don't need to report anything to you. And you said you had a headache," he grumbles and squats down, carefully placing the bowl near his sitting spot. "And if you woke me up when I had one, I'd slit your throat."

"I'd rather have a headache than a heart attack. And what if someone or something attacked the camp?"

"For fuck's sake," Aeryn mutters and inhales a long, deliberate breath. "First of all, you're not my fucking mother, and I don't owe you anything. Secondly, it's fine, okay?" He glares up. "I wasn't that far off anyway, and I was keeping an eye over here."

"Then why didn't you hear me calling the first time?"

Aeryn's eyebrow twitches, and he forces a smile. "Maybe I was jerking off behind a tree?"

It takes a second for Argis to comprehend what he just heard, and the thought process is slow enough that Aeryn's mouth curls into an amused smirk, one that widens at the nonplussed look on the Nord's face once his brain catches up. Well, no, that hadn't crossed his mind. Of course, privacy is hard to come by when traveling in such a cramped space as they are, and spending most of their time on the road with few nights in locked rooms forces one to seek out privacy elsewhere.

He coughs into his fist. He didn't intend on invading the elf's lone-time, but he might as well have been kidnapped or injured. "Well, uh, I - if that's the case, I apologize, I, um - "

"Gods, I'm kidding!" Aeryn chortles and meets Argis' confusion with a smug grin. "Fuck, loosen up a little. My dick would fall off if I left it out in this godawful temperature."

Argis blinks, then chuckles nervously and clear his throat. "... Right, err, yes, it's a bit too cold to - um, well." Warmth floods his face, and he looks away, busies himself with collecting their dirty dishes to the sound of Aeryn's snickering. Well, this isn't awkward at all. "So, hm, you've been gathering berries?"

"Yeah, I tried sitting around, but, uh, it's not my thing," Aeryn confesses. Argis looks over as he gets back up and gives Frost a few careful pats with the back of his hand, the stallion nuzzling his neck in response until he shoos the horse's wet face away. "They're easy to pick this time a year, so it's fine."

"Oh." He looks over at the bowl and frowns a little. "Doesn't look like snowberries?"

"No, it's foxberries."

"Really?" Argis' eye widen. "I haven't had those in ages. Are we cooking with them tonight?"

"I plan to, yeah?"

Argis perks up. "With the rest of the pheasant?"

"No, I - " Cutting himself off, Aeryn bites his lip and glances down at his feet. "... May have, uh, been putting traps up while you were sleeping. So, with rabbit, hopefully...?"

A frown forms on Argis' forehead, though he's hardly surprised. He assumes that, if he wants to ensure that Aeryn isn't getting up to something, he'll have to chain him to a tree. And even that probably won't be enough to keep him in one place. "How are your hands?" is his immediate question, and annoyance grows when Aeryn suspiciously hides them behind his back. Gods, his poor head can't take much more of this.

"Uh, they're fine."

"Could you please say that while looking at me and not your boots?" Argis demands, and a jolt of horror flashes through his gut. Oh, dear Gods, he _does_ sound like a parent, doesn't he? Ugh, Ysmir, what has he become? This is all Aeryn's fault. He sighs and tries to shake the revelation off through his hands.

Aeryn hesitantly lifts his gaze and forces his mouth to stretch into a thin line. "They are fine...?"

"Are they?" Argis asks flatly, face hardening when Aeryn pulls that sweet smile and fluttering eyelashes on him. "Are they _really?_ "

Aeryn shifts his weight from side to side and rolls his eyes. "Alright, maybe it hurt a little while tying the ropes, but it's nothing bad! You don't have to get all worked up about it."

Whatever the elf reads on Argis' face is enough to make his shoulders sag. "Aeryn." The Nord sighs, and Aeryn cringes. "Please, let's have a look at your hands and take care of them if needed."

It's more of an order than a question, and while Argis is in no position to instruct or demand anything, this does concern the Thane of Markarth's physical health and abilities to fight, so he deems it necessary to push his boundaries to keep the obstinate, prideful, moody, rude, fierce, bad-mouthed bitter elf alive. At least he's kind-hearted to those in need, which is something Argis clings onto as a redeeming quality for this otherwise frustrating person. Though, he _did_ cause a shipwreck. And he stole his horse. So, technically, he's a thief and a... Well, _murderer_ is a bit of a leap, since he didn't want anyone to get hurt, but still.

A couple of seconds pass as Aeryn squirms like a wrongheaded juvenile, clicking his tongue and huffing, then submits with a groan. " _Fine_ , if you're going to be a fucking nag about it. I'm sure it's nothing!"

"If that's the case, this will only take a second."

As Aeryn plops down by the fire, muttering something in Bosmerian, probably something rude, Argis collects the cloths and jars and sits down before him. Though the sun doesn't provide any warmth this time of year, at least not this far north, the golden beams helps more than firelight, as well as transforming the usually gray landscape into a white sea of sparkling gemstones. It also lightens the mood, especially for Aeryn. Well, most of the times.

"Alright, let's have a look," Argis says and holds his hand out when Aeryn starts trying to get his gloves off, which he doesn't understand how he got on by himself in the first place, by biting the fingertips and pulling. Argis clears his throat. The elf looks up, eyes already narrowed to thin slits and an argument forming on his lips. "I still have a headache," he warns bitterly, which appears to be enough, as Aeryn's expression softens a little, and he holds his hands out as a reluctant offering.

Gingerly, Argis eases the snug, worn-out gloves off and frowns at the red stains on the bandage. He sighs inwardly and starts unraveling the cloth, all while wondering how in Oblivion this guy has managed to stay alive while being so careless.

"Why are you doing this?" Aeryn wonders suddenly, and Argis looks up from the delicate work of cleaning scraped blisters without causing too much discomfort, raising an eyebrow.

"Do what?"

" _This_ ," he repeats, wiggling his fingers a little. "This whole excessive caring and... Doting and shit. It's not your job."

"I'm **not** doting. And it **is** my job to ensure that you are safe and stay on your feet. You won't be able to defend yourself properly with injured hands."

"But I _can!_ "

"But you don't have to," Argis snaps back, gaze hardening as he narrows his eye, which causes his head to throb. "I believe we've had this conversation a few times already. You don't have to deal with everything yourself."

Taken aback, Aeryn pouts sourly. "I just... I just don't get it."

"What?"

" _Why_ you're doing it! This is not a part of your job. You're only supposed to protect me, nowhere does it say anything about dot - " he bites the word off when Argis glares at him. "... Tending wounds!" Frustrations pours into his voice. "So _why?_ "

Sighing, Argis turns his attention back to Aeryn's hand and gently smears a new layer of green-ish cream over the swollen skin. He knows that the contract doesn't detail anything about specifics regarding 'protection', so the term could be interpreted in different ways. Usually, it's only the physical protection, being an extended sword-arm in fights, which might be the general perception. Added to the rank of Housecarl, a few other notes differ from the regular mercenary or escort jobs, such as services around the home, which aren't that many if there's a servant employed as well. Cooking, keeping the property in order, protect from assassins and burglars. All very practical.

For Argis, though?

"It just makes sense," he says at last and reaches for a clean piece of bandage, shrugging casually. "We're traveling and fighting together, so it's in my interest that you're healthy and in good physical shape. And I enjoy helping. It makes me feel good."

"Even when you're nagging someone who doesn't want your help until they relent from exhaustion?"

"Seems it worked just fine, hm?" He points out and shows an arguably smug smirk at the frustrated look on Aeryn's face, his nose wrinkling.

"Idiot."

"Kid."

They lock eyes for a moment, Aeryn glaring daggers while Argis provocatively cocks an eyebrow. Getting in a new fight definitely isn't in his interest, but he hasn't managed to figure out precisely what starts them; sometimes for no particular reason, sometimes he says something wrong, sometimes he speaks too much, sometimes he's moved something to the wrong spot. He'd get that it would be entirely his fault if one sets off now, but, honestly, he's getting tired of tiptoeing. And the remainder of his headache is enough to push him past his contracted boundaries to 'at all cost, remain faithful, respectful and obedient'.

While refusing to avert his gaze, Aeryn's face smooths out, and the darkness in his eyes slowly fade. He still looks upset, but no words pass his gritted teeth. Argis is the first to break eye contact and proceeds to dress the elf's hand, using thinner strips to wrap around each finger. "Did you like the tea?"

"The wh - oh. It was alright," Aeryn replies quietly, his tone still strained. "Didn't taste much else than the lavender, though." He falls silent for a moment, then continues in a weak voice, "I'm, um... Sorry. About this morning." Argis glances up from his work, but Aeryn's head is turned down. "And um... The headache."

Argis can't help but smile. The progress is so incredibly slow, borderline frustrating, but it is there. Now, he doesn't believe that a person can change with the wind, he didn't, and he knows Aeryn won't either. And as he's set on halting the progress towards a healthier mental state by refusing to let Argis in on anything, it'll be even slower. Again, he can't expect Aeryn to gladly let him in, but it would make everything much easier if he knew what sets him off and what can calm him down.

"Why were you so angry?" he inquires as he finishes off and moves on to take care of Aeryn's other hand, showing a gentle smile when Aeryn glances up at him. He then looks away.

"It's um... That whole, uh, dependent thing," he replies somberly.

Ah. Well, that makes some sense, but, "Is that reason enough for you to get that upset?"

Aeryn wets his lower lip before biting into it, then sighs. "I just... I don't like it when people tell me what to do."

This... Doesn't come as a surprise. Aeryn has been adamant about doing things his way from the start, which has been one of his main arguments to push Argis away; _"Don't like how I do it? Then fuck off."_ must be the most common sentence Argis has heard during these months.

"Aeryn." Argis leans over to the side, tries to catch the elf's gaze, and only goes on once he looks back. "I'm not trying to order you to do anything, and I'm sorry that I keep coming across that way. I guess I just don't understand why you are so reluctant to take care of yourself."

"I'm **not**. I can take perfectly good care of myself," comes the bitter retort, and Argis rolls his eye.

"Then why is _this_ so hard?" He gently shakes Aeryn's hand. The elf looks down at his bloodied palm and shrugs.

"Because you're the one taking care of it, not me."

So, it all comes down to a wounded ego, then? Well, if anything, that's something that risks ruining your life, and it certainly will Aeryn's. It's a sad thing. Argis grew up being encouraged to ask for help and allowing others to be there for him, so he can only guess that Aeryn hasn't been raised with the same mindset. Or it changed over the years for some reason.

Argis hums. "Alright, how about this; if you're allowing me to help you, then you're still making that decision, right?"

Aeryn's eyebrows squish together. "Yeah..?"

"So, wouldn't that mean that you're taking care of yourself by letting me help you?"

His frown deepens, wrinkles the many pink spots remaining from the accident. "Uh... Well, that's..." He trails off and gets a thoughtful look on his face. Argis returns to deal with his hand, allowing him to think it over in his own time. Once he finishes up, he still hasn't gotten an answer, but, then again, Aeryn rarely responds. He just hopes that the planted idea roots enough to make a difference. Who knows, it might even bloom into something colorful and pretty?

"There. Does it feel okay?"

"Mh." Aeryn wiggles his fingers, wincing at the apparent discomfort, then rests both of his hands in his lap. "... Thanks."

"Anytime." Argis smiles and moves the things back into the tent, then proceeds to warm some water over the fire to clean the bloodied bandages. "Do you need anything?"

His question stirs Aeryn back from whatever plane he was stuck in, and he looks up, blinking, then looks around as if to collect his mind. "Uh, no. I can put my gloves on myself."

It's only been a few minutes, and Argis already has to bite his tongue not to snap at the elf. He isn't his mother. "Aren't they too tight?" he asks instead, as they were a mild hassle to get off, and Aeryn gives him an incredulous look.

"Yeah, well, it's fucking cold, and I can't sew myself a new pair, even if my hands weren't messed up."

"Oh... Right. Use mine, then."

Before the elf starts arguing, which he absolutely does, Argis kneels inside the tent and grabs his brown, hardened leather gloves. The fur lining is matted, and a seam split since some time ago, but they are still warm, and probably warmer than Aeryn's.

"I don't need them right now anyway," he counters when Aeryn spits something about him being fine with his own and the heat from the fire. "At least they won't press against the wounds. Here." He squats down and opens holds one open, waits while Aeryn glares at him, replies with a look of weary annoyance, then grudgingly slides his hand into it, then the other, and Argis returns to his spot.

The elf inspects them for a moment, then frowns at Argis, who smiles a little and scoops some boiling water out of the pot to pour over the dirty cloths. The gloves are huge on his hands, comically so, but at least they won't irritate the blisters. Even more so, Aeryn looks a bit more comfortable after a minute or two, and he keeps looking down at the gloves as if he doesn't believe that they are warming him. Then, he gets bored; one leg jumping, wandering gaze, gently tapping his fingers on his knees.

"Could you tell me a bit more about this whole 'Dragonborn' thing?" Argis asks, hoping to keep the elf busy from going on new adventures or find a bottle to entertain himself with. "The Shouts and souls and all that? What other types of Dragons have you encountered?"

*

Aeryn chuckles, which Argis first assumes is because he's always asking questions, but that isn't the reason this time. "Fuck you Nords and your obsession with Dragons," he says in a light-hearted tone, as if a hundred Nords has begged to hear about these magnificent, horrifying creatures before him. Then, he actually proceeds to talk about it, and Argis listens with great interest. He mostly tells him about the practicalities, but it's enough to have him sit still for a while, have another cup of tea and answer some of Argis' many questions while he cleans up.

It's pleasant to listen to Aeryn talk. He gesticulates a lot when he gets into a subject, and his voice can be more expressive than he lets on, his usually flat cadence flowy with enthusiasm as he goes through the different Shouts he's learned so far. As difficult of a person as Aeryn is, Argis finds himself enjoying these rare moments when the elf isn't engulfed in bitterness. They light hope that, in time, he'll climb out of this deep pit of mental pain and find things in life that brings him happiness. And Argis will support him all the way up.

The spark inside his chest fades when Aeryn goes through the strain of getting a bottle of wine from his backpack and uncorks it with his teeth. He breathes slowly and closes his eye when unpleasant memories flood his mind.

It'll be a slow climb with small steps. Still, small steps are better than none.


	19. IMPORTANT AUTHOR UPDATE

Hello all you lovely, amazing, valid beings!

I'm here with a quick update, but first of all;

**I love you**. Yes, you.

Not because you're reading my story or leaving kudos, but because you are worthy of love. You are fantastic and I appreciate you.

I hope that you are doing well and are staying sane and healthy in these harsh times. If you are struggling, feel free to send me a message, whatever you have going on, I'm here for you.

Now I wish to ensure you that;

**I'm not ill. I'm not quitting on the story.**

What's happening right now is that I'm going through the story so far and are making a 'style' update. This origin story is my 'learning by doing' story and I've come a long way in creating my personal style of writing and is still learning so much of how to write in a way that is both fun and exciting to read, and also to write in English (as, for those of you who don't know, is my second language). So the next chapter will be written once the other chapters have gotten a 'facelift'. I decided to remake the previous chapters to keep a nice looking style throughout the entire thing.

Will you need to re-read the whole thing? No, the story isn't changing. I'll be adding a few minor additions/remove some text, but it's not going to affect the story. If there are any additions that I believe are necessary for you to read, I'll be very clear about what and in which chapter. I'm almost half-way done but I can't give a proper estimation as of when the story is updated or when the next chapter will be released.

Which leads us to the second update;

I'll be going to rehab, starting next week (16/11), as I've gotten an amazing change to get help tackle and heal the mental struggles I've been battling since my burnout a couple of years ago due to an overload of work.

I'll be attending a 14-week long program and I'm looking forward to getting started! I have no idea how much time and energy this will take, which is why I don't know how much I'll be working on the story during this time. I'm not going to abandon it since it's my greatest source of joy, with all of you coming along with me, but the updates might not be as frequent as they have been.  
  


So, there we are, that's all I wanted you to know!  
Once the update is made, I'll post another chapter about any potential parts that might be worth re-reading, and then get on with moving the story forward! I've got so much in store for these two dorks and it'll be so much fun to continue sharing it with you!

Take care of yourself and, in case I'm not on track by the end of the year, I wish you a lovely holiday and an amazing new year!


	20. CHAPTER UPDATES DONE

**It's done!**

30/11-20

Wow, that didn't take as long as I expected, then again, I couldn't keep my hands away, and the updates are finished!

I've added a few parts below that I'd recommend you read, though none is a must for the rest of the story to make sense. Again, the main storyline hasn't been changed, so if you don't feel like going back through the chapters, you won't miss out on anything important.

I've marked the added/changed parts with centered asterisks (*) with will indicate the beginning and end of the section where it "makes sense".

Every chapter has been updated, but I'll only write here which ones I consider "necessary" to re-read.

Generally, I've tried to add more life, personality, and ambiance after binge-watching a bunch of videos from talented authors and experimenting with their suggestions. It's been a lot of work, and a bit frustrating, but I've learned so much, and it's been a blast. I'm a little nervous about the result, but I'm happy with my work and proud of how far I've come since starting writing fanfics ~ 6 years ago.

I want to thank you again for coming along with me on this adventure, and for all the kudos and lovely comments <3 I'm so grateful for all of you!

I also want to thank my percolator for providing me with the liters of coffee I've consumed during this process and that will fuel the rest of this story, as well as the 3 hour long compilations of "Ultimate Heroic Battle Music" creators take the time to make and share on Youtube.

I hope you enjoy the update as much as I have while writing it! Feel free to share your opinions with me!

I'm looking forward to finally move on with the story, as I've been self-editing each chapter ~ 5-10 times in total now, and I'm sick of them (and I'm certain I've still missed a bunch of errors, but if I don't stop now, they'll never be done).

**Chapters with sections worth re-reading;**

  * Chapter 1 - The entire thing. I did a lot of changes, and it'll give an insight as to how the work will 'look' from now on.  
  

  * Chapter 3 - 2 sections (Arriving in Solitude + the first evening)  
  

  * Chapter 4 - 1 section (The ending)  
  

  * Chapter 8 - 1 section (The battle scene)  
  

  * Chapter 13 - 1 section (It's not as important as it's cute/funny)  
  

  * Chapter 17 - 1 section (The ending)  
  

  * Chapter 18 - 1 section (The ending)




	21. When darkness takes control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While having noticed that Argis' eye is annoyingly keen, Aeryn had no idea just how much the Nord has gathered about him since they first met. And when it all spills out in the open, he's go no way of dealing with the shock of horror of being exposed for what he is; a theatric liar. And, when it gets worse, Frost ruins everything, at least according to Aeryn. Argis couldn't be more pleased with the outcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Panic attack, unintentional self-harm.

_"I'll take about two more days to reach Dawnstar,"_ Argis had said in the morning. If Aeryn was heading straight for the city, that would be the case, but he's not. He came north to get a chance to enjoy freedom, and Gods be damned if he isn't going to take the opportunity to seek thrills in hunted ruins and vampire-infested cave systems.

Sure, the museum will be interesting to see, and learn why in the name of Oblivion it opened, and there's still the whole 'introduce yourself to the Jarls and let them know you might need their assistance to defeat the Dragons' ordeal he's working his way through. So far, he's learned that nothing comes without a price, not even the support to save the fucking world.

Aeryn never asked for this fate. It's honestly the opposite of what he strived for when he left Valenwood; the last thing he wished to gain was more responsibility. It's been looming over his head like a heavy, lace-trimmed veil since the day he was born, all the musts and rules and _formalities._ Ugh. He didn't know what to expect when he stumbled across the border to Cyrodiil but he had an idea when riding across the one to Skyrim. And look how that turned out.

Maybe it's just his lot in life, to suffer the consequences of dreaming of a life that he could control and steer towards the things that brings him joy, like herbalism and exploration. It seems the Gods have other plans for him, and Aeryn still can't decide if it's worth it or not.

Some mornings bring a sense of positivity, that this shit-show isn't going to be his doom, though, more often than not, he wakes up wishing that the Green had turned his body to soil already. Though, the mornings are different now. As much as Aeryn despises the fact, his company isn't... Horrible.

This bothers him. Argis is the most annoying, moronic, thick-headed fucking nag Aeryn has come across on this side of the border, and _somehow,_ there's something comforting waking up and hearing him outside the tent. Just the sounds of him mumbling when he's preparing something over the fire or the relaxed sighs or the way he hums whenever he's contemplating. That stupid fucking smile when Aeryn emerges, the soft "Good morning" whispers, and the prepared cup of tea he gets the moment he joins for breakfast. _Every fucking morning._ What's the point? And why isn't he leaving?

"What's wrong?"

Aeryn snaps out of his head and meets Argis' curious gaze. Gods, what isn't wrong with his life by now? At least the air is fresh and the sun is shining. "It's nothing," he replies and continues to scout their surroundings.

He knows he's slipping. It's getting harder each day to keep that protective wall steady, as each compliment or reassuring comment or disgustingly compassionate action knocks another handful of grains from between the massive blocks. His walls have been up long before he came to Skyrim and they've only been kicked down once since, which had been a rather brutal ordeal on both sides, bloody, even. That's when he learned that there are people in the world who are, if you believe it, more stubborn than himself.

"You look concerned."

"Sure."

There's that amused snort that Aeryn ignores, instead keeps his eyes out for any interesting landmarks. Silence falls between them as their horses steadily plods through the deep snow and Aeryn takes a moment to feel his hands, gently curls and uncurls them around the reins. His palms are still sore, but all the blisters are gone, and he isn't spending another second sitting around a damn camp. They argued this morning, again, but he wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer this time. No matter where Argis is coming from, Aeryn knows damn well what he's capable of and not. _"You don't have to prove anything, Aeryn."_ Yes, he does. He needs that dumb Nord to understand that he isn't helpless or ever in need of rescuing, because he's an **adult**. 

Not that it stopped Argis from forcefully helping him treat his hands this morning, and despite the amount of will Aeryn pours into stating that he hates every second of it, he doesn't.

It's the stupidest, simplest thing, and yet, having another human being tend to him is enough to set his nerve ends on fucking fire. With all the men he's dragged into bed, the physical contact shouldn't cause this much of a reaction, but, for some damn reason, whenever Argis holds his hands and oh so tenderly cleans his wounds and rubs salves onto his swollen palms, Aeryn fights the urge to weep in sorrow for all the years he's gone without affection.

Because it's a different type of touch from the grabby, tipsy men he sweet-talks late nights at the inns. They're not supposed to be cuddly or affectionate; they're supposed to pound his brains out until he can't remember this shitty life he's stuck in or the horrors that led him here, to give him a sense of being appreciated, which will allow him a quiet night's sleep. And, once that's done, they're out. Maybe that's what's causing this distress, the fact that Argis isn't leaving. Why the fuck isn't he leaving?

"Alright, come on, what are you sulking about?"

"Why the fuck aren't you leaving?"

Argis' face goes blank and he blinks, then raises his eyebrows. "Sorry?"

"Last time I asked if you're deaf, you said 'no.'" Aeryn glares at the man, who gives a confused shake of his head.

"I'm not, but I need a bit more context than that. Care to share?"

Aeryn huffs and looks over to the side when thumping echoes between the trees, accompanied by faint, deep rumbling. They must be near a herd of mammoths. "I don't get why you're still following me."

"Uh... Well, there's the contract, with me being assigned - "

"That's bullshit!" Aeryn snaps and pulls Frost to a stop. "There's nothing on that piece of paper that forces you to walk on my fucking heels, and I've told you _so many times_ that you're free to leave. Why haven't you?"

Argis gently tugs his horse to a halt and steers her around to face him with a lopsided smile. "Do you want my professional response, or my honest one?"

"Is the professional one a load of shit?"

"Um, no, but there's a lot of padding."

Well, that only makes him curious. "Tell me that one first."

Argis clears his throat and stretches his back a bit, then proceeds solemnly, "I'm still in your company despite your insistence that I leave because you travel such far and dangerous areas and, with the importance of your survival to ensure that the world remains the way we know it, it would be a foolish act of me to leave you vulnerable to the bandits and monsters that roam these lands, at least until the World-Eater has been dealt with."

A moment of silence follows as Aeryn gawks at the man, then snaps his jaw shut and gives a slight nod. "Well, that's... Almost impressive. For an idiot." Argis rolls his eye as he relaxes his stance. "And your honest one?"

There's a flash of hesitance on the Nord's face, but he obliges. "Because I know you're only pushing me away because you're afraid that I'll see behind that thick mask of fake smiles and pretending, and that it's easier for you to be alone in your misery because if someone sees it, it means it's real."

Like a bite to the throat, Aeryn chokes on an inhale and feels the blood drain from his face. No. No, it doesn't work like that; he's not supposed to know that. He's not supposed to have figured that out; how the fuck did he figure that out? He doesn't get a chance to find his voice as Argis goes on,

"That's why you're drinking, isn't it? Because you're trying to sedate your head and whatever feelings are dragging you down, rather than dealing with them because it hurts. Whenever you're feeling bad, or upset, or when that shaking starts in your hands, you drown it with alcohol, then you pretend that nothing's - "

"Shut the **fuck** up."

The Nord falls silent as Aeryn tries to get a grip on the storm of emotions that stirs his stomach into nausea. This can't be right. He shouldn't know this. There's no way this meat-head has figured all of this out. He's always been so careful to hide it and evade the questions, how the fuck has Argis worked this out? He said something about knowing someone, weeks ago, didn't he? Are there others who know as well? Oh, fuck, what if someone else has figured it out too?

Frost steps anxiously when the familiar trail of fire twists and claws up Aeryn's spine and around his throat, tightening until his breaths comes in shallow bursts. Oh, _no_ , this is **not** happening now, not when Argis is watching, he _can't_ , Gods, you fucking idiot, focus on something, get a grip, just _breathe_ , please, this is not the time -

"Aeryn, what's happening?"

"Nothing," comes the automated response, followed by a strangled gasp. It's faint at first, a buzz of a distant crowd, filling his head like tidewater, slowly but surely, and Aeryn tries to push it back, but it's easier to bail out water from a ship halfway submerged in the sea. It just keeps coming and coming, clear voices breaking from the buzz. The first, laughing, telling him how pathetic he is, the other, yelling, urging him to run, and a third, growling, threatening, _promising_ , that no matter where he hides, he'll never escape.

"Shut up," he whispers and covers his ears, tries to shake the voices out but they simply laugh at him. More come to join the choir until he can't hear the world, or Argis' alarmed voice, or Frost's agitated whinnying, over the collective shouting echoing inside his head.

It's with little grace that Aeryn lands in the snow, his knees giving in, and he barely catches himself in the deep snow before stumbling to his feet, backpack coming off without a thought. _"Hide,"_ a quavering voice whispers, _"before they find you."_

The earth melts beneath his feet.

 _"Think you can run?"_ Rumbling voices vibrate through his body, calling above the deafening chaos.

It catches his ankles and drags him down, pulling and pulling until his head disappears below the surface.

_"Insolent child."_

Frigid water fills his lungs.

_"I will find you."_

The world loses its shape. He tries so hard to hold on, to find anything _real_ enough to anchor him and lead him back to sanity, but he can't feel the snow or the wind, can't see anything but white blur. His head throbs with ear-piercing cackling and screaming and please, _stop_. 

Chains gather around his neck and pulls until the metal chafes his skin. He tries to pull them off but his fingers keep slipping, the voices laughing, _"he can't even save himself,"_ and this must be the one time it swallows him whole because no matter how hard he pulls and tugs he can't - 

" - breathe! Aeryn, please! Shit, come on, I - it's okay! It's okay, you're not in danger."

There's an audible _pop_ when the bubble shatters into a thousand shards, reflecting in the sunlight like tiny drops of water floating in the air, only to morph into a silhouette that stares him down like the promise of doom that awaits him in Valenwood, and he can't go back, he won't, if he does he'll -

"I'm here, everything - everything is alright. No one is going to hurt you, I promise."

The silhouette shifts into a blurry mass that slowly forms prominent shapes and features, moving, then, there's a _touch_ , warm but not scorching, rugged but soft, sliding between his fingers, guiding.

"I've got you," a promise cuts through the screams, shutting them down, one at a time, each one being switched out with a racing thunder that vibrates against his skull. "You're safe."

There's a light bump against the side of his head, followed by a snort that blows hot air against his cheek. It's familiar. Another voice fades out.

Slowly, the world starts to regain its form, the dark mass before him keeps shifting and turning and...

Argis.

"I'm here," the deep voice assures and the last pieces fall in place when Aeryn finds himself staring into that worried blue eye, the world starts making sense again. "I've got you." Aeryn recognizes his heartbeat in his ears and feels the pounding against his ribs, followed by the frantic rising and falling of his chest. "It's - it's alright, keep breathing, you're doing great."

_Breathe._

The first, proper inhale is a desperate gasp as his head finally reaches above the surface of the water, and his lungs burn like they're on fire. Everything aches and his throat stings when he swallows through sand.

A lifetime passes before he manages to connect with the rest of his body, only to find out that the world is standing still. The thunder dies down to eerily quiet, and the chaos is gone. No voices, no serpents, no claws. Like they weren't even there from the start.

His vision blurs again, and he blinks it away, only now feeling the cold, wet streams on his cheeks. A cold wave crashes over him; he's crying. In front of Argis. He freaked out, in front of Argis _._ Gods. Oh, Gods, no, _no, no, no,_ this isn't happening, this wasn't supposed to happen, he wasn't supposed to see this. _No one_ is supposed to see this.

"I - I'm - "

"Aeryn, I'm so sorry."

Just like that, the brewing storm dies.

"I'm so, so, sorry, I had no idea that this would happen," Argis whispers, his voice seeping with remorse and pain and emotions Aeryn's never heard from this mountain of a man. No, he has. Back at the fort, on the ship. They stir something inside his chest that he can't comprehend right now. "I didn't mean to - to cause any of this. I only - " He cuts himself off and inhales, swallows, then shows the faintest smile. "Do you... Do you need anything?"

... Gods, he can't believe this, Argis is blaming himself? He's not the one with a fucked up head who refuses to see that he's nothing but a messed up wreck of a failure.

But... _Need._ What does he need? Except for a quick and painful death in order to evade this shame? He tries to feel his body, his stomach, but he still can't make sense of it, so his bleary eyes start flicking around. It's started snowing, apparently. "I don't... I don't know," he rasps, the gravelly thickness in his voice an unpleasant surprise, and snivels. More tears fall when he blinks, despite his attempts to keep them at bay.

"It's alright, you don't have to know," Argis assures him with that tender voice that further soothes his pulse, and Aeryn hates how easily affected he is by it. "Would you like to get up from the ground?"

Glancing down, Aeryn discovers the deep snow that they're kneeling in, as well as feels the cold on his legs. It fades back when he spots his hands in his lap, fingers interlaced with Argis', and his mouth goes dry. None of them are wearing gloves, and Aeryn's nails and fingertips are smudged with blood. He swallows and feels the burning sting in his throat again, only now realizing that it's not on the inside; it's on the outside. Ah. This again.

"I didn't want you to hurt yourself," Argis explains quietly and makes no attempts to move his hands away. He's not holding on either, just resting them against Aeryn's thighs, his pale, rough fingers a stark contrast to Aeryn's slender, sunkissed ones.

Aeryn doesn't make any attempts either, despite the venomous whisper in the back of his head that urges him to dry those pathetic tears away and brush it off, that he doesn't need anyone else. Maybe it's because exhaustion is showing up to claim him, or... Or because it feels _safe._ Because, somewhere, deep beneath that obstinate denial, it's such a relief to just fucking _stop pretending._

A snort stirs him back, and he turns his head a little, a soft smile tugging at his lips when Frost nuzzles his cheek. "Hi, pony," he mumbles and gets a huff in the ear in response. "Yeah, yeah, it's alright. Don't worry."

"Can you... Actually communicate with him?" Argis wonders, and Aeryn raises an eyebrow at him, snivels, then nods.

"Yeah, of course. All Bosmers can talk with animals. It's kind of our thing?"

He's met with an incredulous look, then blinking, then a hum and a nod. "I've heard stories, but I didn't know if it was true."

"All true," Aeryn says and slowly unlaces one hand, because his wet face is growing colder and he needs to dry it, and twitches when Argis offers to free his other, involuntarily squeezes their fingers together in an attempt to keep them there. It works a charm to warm his face when Argis unfortunately gets the hint, because it goes up in flames. Aeryn ducks his head away and covers it with his palm, winching when the sore skin stings. And to imagine that, for a second, he thought it couldn't get any worse? By the leaves of the Green, could he not be a fucking mess for one goddamn second?

"Is, um, does your throat still hurt?"

It's a cheap attempt to make him feel better, but Aeryn finds that he appreciates it, and he moves his hand from his face to gingerly touch the scratches, hissing when it burns. "Yeah..."

There's a hesitant breath, followed by a sigh, and Aeryn dares peer up and meet an uncomfortable expression on the Nord's face. "Is this, um... Why you've been leaving camp all of a sudden?"

The subject makes the blush fade, and Aeryn pokes his tongue against his cheek. He's never really talked about these things before, certain that he'd be seen as a pathetic weakling. It's frustrating that Argis is making it so hard to write him off as an insensitive jerk, because it would be easier to use that as a reason to not answer, while now, the only reason is that he's afraid to share because of his fragile ego.

"It's, um... Yeah," he mumbles and dries his cheeks with the back of his hand, grateful that the tears have finally ceased. "Pretty fucked up, I know."

"It's not. It's not strange at all."

Aeryn snorts and gathers enough energy to shoot the Nord a skeptical glance. "I don't need you to patronize me."

"I would never do that. I've said it before, and I'll repeat that until you trust me for it. I'll never treat you condescendingly. And I don't think there's anything wrong or odd with your panic attacks."

Aeryn blinks at the term. "My... My what? Panic attacks? Is that what it's called?"

"Err... Yes. At least, I think that's what it is," Argis says and clears his throat, his shoulders tensing, which is enough to spark an alarm in Aeryn's head. He leans back a bit.

"How do you know about that?"

Seconds of silence pass between them, and there's a tense look on Argis' face that Aeryn doesn't like. The Nord averts his gaze and sighs, then lifts his free hand to comb through his hair. "Argis, _how_ do you know about that?"

"I - ... I asked about it," comes the hesitant answer, like a sharpened blade that cuts Aeryn's stomach open and bleeds him dry. "I asked a healer about it, because I wanted to be able to help you."

Aeryn pulls his hand away from the comfortable warmth of Argis' as a spark of anger lights in his chest, in spite of the overwhelming exhaustion. The Nord bites his lip and exhales slowly, and a defeated expression sweeps in across his face. "You... You _told_ someone about this..?"

"I didn't mention it was you! I just asked if she knew anything about the trembling and shortness of breath, and she gave it as a suggestion. I only did it because - "

"You're so fucking desperate to make me open up about shit, only to go behind my back and - "

"I did **not** go behind your back, Aeryn," Argis interrupts, tension building in his voice. "I have not, and I never will. I didn't mention your name, and I only did it because you refuse to talk to me."

"I don't have to talk to you, you idiot!"

"No, I know that, it's just - Gods." Argis drags a hand down his face and exhales wearily. "I know. And no, you don't, but, despite everything you think about me, I care about you. I care about your physical health, your mental health, and seeing that there's something going on that's obviously hurting you, I want to be able to do _something_ , and not just helplessly watch while you're in pain."

Aeryn doesn't want to believe that. He doesn't want to believe that there are people out in the world who'll selflessly throw their own needs away for others without asking for anything in return, who are pure-hearted just for the sake of it.

Because he's had someone like that in his life and he was _betrayed._

"I would've asked you about it, but I knew you'd refuse to tell me," Argis continues and meets his narrow gaze with a tilted head. The sincerity pouring into his voice makes it so much more difficult to brush it off as bullshit. "Aeryn, all I want is to support you. I know you don't think very highly of me, or my intentions, but that's it. I just... Want to help. All I'm asking from you is that you give me a chance to prove that you can trust me with this."

Fuck, this is not a good time to have this sort of conversation, because Aeryn doesn't have enough energy to burst into rage and make a scene. It's usually the easiest way to make people shut up. He's barely got enough energy to comprehend the weight of the words Argis shares either. _Trust._ It's such a simple thing to talk about, but actually relying on someone is... Well, it's not impossible, because there are a few that Aeryn would trust with his life, but -

"H - hey, knock it off," Aeryn sputters when Frost starts nuzzling the back of his head, bumps his nose against it, and shifts to glare at the stallion, who snorts. "This does _not_ concern you, you thick-headed mule. H - hey, Frost! _Stop that!_ "

The horse nibbles at his shoulder and Aeryn twists around to push him off, only to have this so-called 'trusted companion' shove him to the side with a headbutt and send him flailing to the ground. His body jerks to a sudden stop when Argis grabs him by the shoulders with a surprised "oh shit" and a second later, they're staring at each other in equal shock. 

Aeryn barks a bitter laugh and drops his head, upper-body hanging in the air with Argis as the only thing keeping him from hitting the ground. How ironic. "You fucking nag."

"I didn't say anything."

"I wasn't talking to you."

Frost snorts and wanders off with his head held high, tail whipping from side to side, and Aeryn glares at the stallion's flanks as he heads for a nearby pine tree. "I swear, one day, I'll roast your ass for dinner, pony."

He swears he can hear Argis chuckle and, ah yes, there it is, his face is burning off again. Great. Fucking great. Maybe he should just give up and let the cursed weather take him?

"You okay?" Argis asks as he carefully pushes Aeryn back up.

"Amazing," he deadpans and huffs at the amused grin on the Nord's lips, breaking eye-contact to stare at his lap. The severity of the topic washes over him again, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. Fucking horse. "I'll - … I'll think about it," he says after a struggling few seconds and refuses to meet Argis' gaze.

"That's all I ask," Argis assures, and Aeryn can hear the tension leave his body. "Thank you."

Aeryn rolls his eyes and scratches the back of his hand. Gods, he's going to regret this, isn't he? He's either going to lose Argis to some stupid trap, or Argis is going to realize that he's a mess beyond repair that's useless to give any effort to.

"Need help up?"

Snapping back to reality, Argis is standing up in front of him, brushing snow off his legs. He huffs. "I've told you I don't need your help."

"Do you _want_ help up, then?"

Before he gets a chance to come up with a retort, Argis' hands stretches out into his view, and Aeryn looks up to meet that reassuring, soft smile with a narrow glare. "Do you have any idea how fucking annoying you are?"

Argis barks a chortle, then shrugs innocently. "You've been very expressive about this apparent side of me, so I've gotten a pretty good clue."

"You're incredibly annoying," Aeryn mutters, just to make sure he really knows, and stares at the warm, welcoming hands, then at his sore palms. "I can't grab on anyways."

"Trust me."

"What, just like that?"

"Yeah. What's the worse that can happen?"

"It'll fucking hurt?"

"I promise it won't."

Aeryn's eyes narrows further. "How?"

"That's where the trust comes in."

"Gods, I fucking hate you."

Argis remains quiet with a quizzical look in his eye and Aeryn's mouth forms a thin line. Trust, huh. _I can always kill him if he messes up,_ is the reasoning he uses to justify the stupid decision of holding his hands out. The bright grin on the Nord's face could damn well melt the snow from the entire continent. He leans down, wraps his fingers around Aeryn's wrist and gingerly pulls him up, holds on for a few seconds until he's found his footing, reminded that his body is still absolutely exhausted from the panicky thing. Or, _panic attack_ , as it apparently is. There's a strange comfort in having a name for it. Does that mean that others are experiencing it as well?

"Did that hurt?"

"... No."

"Good." Argis takes a step back. "Can you walk?"

Aeryn shifts his weight and tries his feet. His legs feel like cold syrup, but they don't fold underneath him. "Yeah."

"Alright. I'll, um, get a potion for your throat. Do you need anything?"

"A hot, lavender bath and a bottle of whiskey," Aeryn replies wishfully and meets Argis' skeptical eye.

"I can't be of much help with that, I'm afraid."

Aeryn rolls his eyes in mock exasperation and clicks his tongue. "Then what good are you, Housecarl?"

"My bad. I'll make sure to pack a tub when we leave Dawnstar." The Nord chuckles, and it's enough to bring a slight smile to Aeryn's lips. Stupid idiot. Though, on a serious note, Aeryn sighs and looks out across the white landscape while making sense of how his body feels.

"I'd, um... Do good with a break," he admits, immediately regretting the words when they leave his mouth, but Argis doesn't scoff or laugh or say anything about him being weak for not pushing on. Aeryn stares at the man when he simply says,

"Alright, then we'll take a break."

Just like that. Aeryn blinks. "Oh. O - okay."

Is it _that_ simple?


	22. Down under under

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of Argis dreams since leaving home has been to walk the ancient halls of the Dwemer, and he finally gets the chance to. It's enough excitement to last him at least a week, but Aeryn isn't known for slowing down, so the odd duo plows their way through ruins and caves. When they reach Dawnstar, Argis' dreams for a few days rest are quickly vanquished.

When Argis was around the age of sixteen, he won a prize at the autumn fair in Whiterun for knocking down every single stack of apples in a booth with a rock. Later, in his early twenties, he won a brawl held during the local Mid Year Celebration in Rorikstead. Each time, his ego had swelled to the size of Jerall mountains, and while having accomplished impressive feats since then, nothing could replace that immense pride he still remembers to this day.

Until Aeryn accepted his help.

Ysmir's beard, nothing could even compare to the joy and relief filling his chest, even now, as he's wading through a sewer with pearls of sweat trickling down his back, with barely enough fresh air to inhale a proper breath without feeling queasy. While it won't cause any miracles, Argis' belief that there is a way to form a trusting bond with the elf has solidified, giving him the boost needed to keep trying.

"You're the one who longed for this," Aeryn whispers ahead when Argis coughs in the crook of his neck, the muffled sound echoing down the conduit. "I don't want to hear shit."

"Not complaining," Argis assures and clears his throat, carefully pushing one foot ahead of the other through the murky water, drenched up to his knees. Between the bandits and the Falmer, he definitely preferred the first, but, battling a clear way through a colony of blind, bat-looking monsters is about to prove worthy when he emerges into the open, ducking out of the endless pipe they've been trudging through during the last ten minutes.

"Woah..."

They exit into what is best described as an ancient cathedral, with spiraling ramps reaching towards a ceiling in the sky, and a seemingly endless network of whistling pipes, ducts, and valves. Pistons the size of palace columns line the walls, each one steadily pumping an adjoined vent or cog or powering something hidden behind the walls. Whiffs of steam puffs into the air around the massive cylinders, the monotonous sound almost soothing as it bounces off the stone walls. 

It looks nothing like in the books.

"Quit gawking. We need to move," Aeryn hisses up ahead, and Argis tears his eye off the wondrous surroundings. "You'll have enough time to get sick of the view before we're out."

Throwing a final glance over his shoulder, he follows Aeryn through a half-sunken door and into what will be the first hallway with a myriad of rooms and nooks in this labyrinth of a ruin.

His hopes of avoiding more Falmer during the rest of their exploration are soon crushed, and he's also introduced to what is the skin-crawling clatter of too many mechanical legs tapping against stone floors, only to later face the polished horrors of metallic guardians swishing across rooms and hallways; man-like warriors, mounted on spheres wielding sharp blades, lunging at his flanks with deadly accuracy and barely giving him a second to catch his breath between incoming attacks.

"By Shor, how - how do you do this by yourself?" Argis pants, hands on his knees as he struggles to regain his breath. The deep gash on the back of his thigh is still tingling as the potion repairs the muscle, and there's a burning throb pulsating through his shield-arm. He lifts his head to look at the elf, who's rummaging through an adorned chest on top of the short staircase, and hisses as a bead of sweat rolls down his brow and into his eye. "How many of the - these places have you cleared?"

"Uh, four?" Aeryn pauses, then nods. "Yeah, I four. And, you know, same as always." He holds up a handful of bronze-colored arrows against blue lights that flicker in their raised, octagonal lanterns that line the staircase. "I just stay out of reach and hit the right spots."

"R - right spots?"

"Yeah. You can just make out the soul gem from the backs on the spheres, and a well-placed shot is usually enough to take them out." He sorts the arrows into his quiver before continuing to go through the chest. Argis' jaw falls open.

"You mean you could've taken all of them out with barely any effort?"

"I said it's _usually_ enough. Don't think I haven't been inches from getting my fucking head chopped off."

"Then why didn't you just do that right now?"

The elf sits back on his knees and flashes a toothy grin. "You're the one who wanted the full experience."

Argis gawks at him and lets out a breathless laugh, raising a hand to rub sweat from his forehead. This damn guy. "Aren't you considerate."

"Hey, you even didn't die! Besides." He gets up from the ground and saunters down the stairs, then stops beside Argis with an amused smirk. "The fun's just begun."

-

It feels like the entire day has passed once they've maneuvered through hundreds of rooms that lead to a hundred more, bypassing traps and mechanical enemies and another sunken area filled with Falmer, and even Aeryn is struggling to catch his breath once they reach a lift of sorts, from what the elf explains between ragged inhales. 

"Can I try?"

Aeryn chuckles breathlessly and waves at the lever in the middle of the platform, then squats down into a resting position. "Have at it."

With an excited tremble in his hand, Argis grabs the lever and flips it over, each dent of the cog it's connected to clicking audibly, and they exchange puzzled looks when the platform rustles to life, and descends. Argis looks up the open shaft and the faint light visible in the distance. "I thought this would take us to the surface?"

"I figured as well. Don't know what else might be below this rotten hole? Unless..."

Argis pops an eyebrow. "Unless what?"

Whatever answer comes out of Aeryn's mouth, Argis doesn't hear it, as the lift descends beneath the level of the earth and into an enormous cavern, illuminated by mushrooms the size of buildings, with a massive waterfall that leads water in meandering streams that stretches out like silky ribbons in the wind. It captures each of his senses, and he's left with a messy, sensory overload as he tries to take it all in, while simultaneously making sense of the scenery as a reality. 

Ruins of a city are visible between overgrown fungi, trees, and rugged rock formations, forming columns that stretch endlessly into a starry ceiling. Thick pipes appear and disappear into the ground like golden worms, some attached to enormous, inactive pistons, some seemingly vanishing into the earth.

Time passes as Argis stares at the marvels of nature and man, where the former has reclaimed what was once theirs in a symphony of blues and purples and soft, jelly-like caps with tendrils swaying in the breeze from the roaring waterfall, and only remembers to breathe when his body forces him to inhale. They've come to a stop long since, but Argis never felt the tremble as the platform settled on the lowest level of the ancient construction.

"Woah," he exhales once he finds his voice and breathes the musty air, surprised that it doesn't sting his nose as much as he'd assume, judging by how deep underground they must be. "What is this place?"

"We're in Blackreach," Aeryn replies matter-of-factly, followed by an amused snort. "Of course we're in fucking Blackreach." Seemingly unaffected by the magical scenery, Aeryn steps off the lift and unhinges his bow.

"You've been here before?"

"Yeah. It's been a while, so I don't know if any Falmer has returned or... _Re-populated_." He shudders audibly. "Just... Don't go around making a fucking mess."

Argis tries not to stumble over anything as he follows Aeryn from a distance, busy marveling at the wonderous underground nature and does his best to keep his eye out for potential enemies. He follows the old cobblestone paths around what once was a city, walks underneath mushroom caps the sizes of tavern ceilings, and squints at small luminous plants dotting the ground throughout the cavern.

The thundering waterfall casts echoes throughout the area, creating a comfortable calm that's only added to by the patches of luminescent... Plants, he assumes? That grows across the ceiling. 

To think that he's walked over thirty years on this continent and never, nowhere in his wildest imagination, has he ever seen anything as breathtaking as this. It seems that his romanticized images of traveling alongside the Dragonborn weren't as far off as he thought back on the beach.

Speaking of the Dragonborn, Argis finds Aeryn on his knees near one of the streams, hunched over a cluster of leafy plants emitting a faint green shine. After ensuring that their immediate surroundings are enemy-free, Argis approaches, and squats down by his side. 

"You know what those are?" he asks quietly and as Aeryn gently twists and turns the thin leaves around. He tips his head from side to side.

"I know it's a type of fern, but I've never seen one that glows," he murmurs absentmindedly and tugs his gloves off before returning to study the plant, slender fingers tracing the thin stalk. To imagine that those hands, now tenderly caressing tiny leaves on a fragile stem, only recently slit someone's throat in rage. "I didn't get the time to look at anything properly when I was here last time."

"How so?"

Silence follows for a few seconds before Aeryn answers, "There was a bunch of fucking Falmer down here that time."

"Ah. I see."

As Aeryn disappears into a mental space where Argis' company doesn't fit, the Nord keeps a lookout while indulging in the environment, throwing a glance at the elf from time to time. There's a now-familiar furrow on his forehead, the same as when he's mixing potions, though his eyes shimmer with curiosity over this small, glowing plant. While not understanding the fascination, it's nice to view this side of the bitter elf.

They remain for another hour before Aeryn leads the way to scout out a lift to get them out, battling off a group of Falmer holding up on the other side of the cavern before they make it back to the surface, winding up on the other side of the massive ruins they entered. 

-

They don't reach Dawnstar until five days later. 

During those days, they clear out two ruins of draugr, skeletons, and skeevers, four caves, two of them descending into bandit camps, one lair of vampires, and an old fort inhabited by a coven of witches and a hagraven. By the end of it, Argis is the one longing for a warm bath to soothe his aching muscles and the inflammation threatening to bloom in his shoulder.

Aeryn keeps busy along the way by improving his sleeping roll with the pelt from a sabre cat that Argis only gets mildly envious of, hunting for food and cooking, reading, scribbling notes, re-organizing his backpack _again_ , sorting arrows, drinking, assisting Argis in repairing his armor while continuously complaining about it, still doing an impeccable job, and combing out Frost's tousled mane. He suffers through another three panic attacks and still insists on dealing with them on his own, _despite_ Argis knowing what they look like now. 

Argis doesn't argue, afraid that he might make it worse, but he does follow the elf when he stumbles away from camp, keeping enough distance to make sure that he doesn't get into further danger during the attacks, while staying out of his sight. Each time, Argis hugs his arms around himself when he hears the elf's sniffling and choking, attempting to comfort the stinging ache in his chest it causes. While he's a little closer to learning about Aeryn's battles, it hurts even more now that he sees what he's going through. He wants to be there, help him calm down, become better at it, and also keep him from hurting himself. Gods, seeing Aeryn frantically claw at his throat like that still makes his skin crawl.

It probably was a big jump to assume that Aeryn would gladly accept the mental support simply because Argis accidentally witnessed an attack. Well, _caused_ one. Gods, even days later, he still feels bad about it. He knows that he couldn't possibly have seen it coming, but that still doesn't stop him from feeling guilty. Even Aeryn told him that, after Argis admitted that he feels bad it happened, _"Stop blaming yourself, you idiot, how the fuck were you supposed to know it would cause an attack? Drop it already."_

He tries to, but he still feels stupid, and tries to compensate by being even more supportive; making sure that Aeryn is getting all the food and tea he needs, that he's warm, that he is feeling well-rested before they head out, and it gets to the point that Aeryn explodes in a fit of rage from feeling smothered by Argis' desperate attempts to suppress the guilt by being overly accommodating. It forces him to admit that, this time, he is actually doting, and feels bad about that instead, but he stops. Or, well, he doesn't stop altogether, but he backs down enough that Aeryn gets space to breathe again. 

It's possible that Aeryn notices Argis' rather obvious disappointment of not being allowed to help, as he lets out an exasperated sigh and asks the gloomy Nord to hold onto one end of his bedroll as he's attaching the cleaned pelt to the inside, who perks up like a puppy being asked if he wants a treat. While being convinced that he isn't really helping with anything, as he's merely stretching the fabric resting in Aeryn's lap, it fills him with such pride that he puffs his chest out.

"Fucking idiot," the elf mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes, but Argis spots an amused smirk on his lips before he hunches over his work. 

-

Dawnstar is... Well, as underwhelming as it's always been, which Argis doesn't mind when comparing to the frantic atmosphere in Markarth; after the Forsworn had been dealt with, the chaos involving the murders exchanged for a busy market-life and continuous celebrations. It wasn't bad in any way, just _busy_. It's also nice that they aren't immediately treated like a threat the moment they enter the small city, as they'd been in Morthal. Here, no one gives them much attention as they walk the narrow street between the wooden buildings while Aeryn curiously looks around, who's careful to keep his hood up enough to cover his face.

The market is closed due to the heavy snowfall, seemingly to Aeryn's disappointment, so Argis points the way to the inn, eager to rent a private spot in the washroom and get that steamy bath he's been longing for.

"Are there any cities you _haven't_ visited?" Aeryn asks annoyedly when he walks past Argis, who holds the door open to the inn. It's the first question the elf's asked about him since they met, and Argis immediately translates it as a positive development for their upcoming friendship, forming a smile on his lips.

"No, I've visited them all, several times."

Aeryn groans and shrugs snow from his cloak before proceeding inside the busy two-story building.

It's dimly lit with wall sconces, candlesticks, and a large, open firepit in the middle of the room that also serves as a grill for racks of meat and spit roasting a lamb. The heavy, gamy aroma mingles with fire smoke and an underlying tang of iron. It's built and decorated with the typical aesthetics for smaller cities, held up by thick wooden columns with tables, most of them occupied, lining walls packed with an array of different shields, hunting trophies, paintings, and banners.

A small crowd is gathered by the bar with a blond woman, dressed in a worn worker's outfit, dusted with dirt, gesticulating broadly, her upset tone raised above the chatter and bard's lute-plucking.

"... It's a curse! It has to be! I've got to get out of this town."

"Irgnir, get a hold of yourself," the dark-haired woman of the group says, she too looking like she just walked out of one of the mines. "They're just dreams. Please tell her, Erandur."

An old, scrawny-looking Dunmer leaning against the bar sighs and brushes invisible dirt off his crimson robes, then shows a weary smile. "Listen to your friend, Fruki. They are just dreams, my dear. I assure you that it is quite normal."

"It's the same dream over and over again. You think that's normal? It's evil, I tell you!"

Onlookers mingling around them murmurs in agreement.

"Erandur, she has a point. You keep telling us no harm will follow these dreams, but they must be an omen."

"Give him a chance to speak," the barkeep barks. "He's trying to help us."

"Everyone, please. I'm doing what I can to end these nightmares. In the meantime, all I ask is you remain strong." The Dunmer turns to the blond woman and gently touches her arm. "And put your trust in Lady Mara."

"I... I will. Thank you..." 

With that, the small crowd disperses, some leaving the inn and others finding seats by the tables. Well, it seems trouble finds its way to slumbering cities as well.

"Don't worry 'bout it, Erandur, I'm sure you'll come up with something," the barkeep reassures and pushes a tankard towards the Dunmer, who sighs and accepts it. "Don't let them get on your nerves."

"They're not getting on my nerves, Thoring, it's just - " He cuts off when the two walks up to the bar, Aeryn sliding onto one of the stools on the end of the bar, while Argis lingers behind him within a protective range, keeping his eye on the monk, or priest, or whatever he might be, who's red gaze flicks between the two. " - it's just frustrating that I can't be of more help, for the time being. Not without _aid_ from a couple of _strong_ adventurers."

"Subtile," Aeryn jeers and glances around his hood, then shifts his attention to the barkeep. "Do you have any rooms available?"

"Sure do. One or two?"

"Two, please."

The burly Nord nods and turns to rummage through a drawer behind the bar, and Aeryn shifts on the stool, partly facing the robed man. "What is it you need, exactly?"

"Oh, please, excuse my manners, let me introduce myself first." The Dunmer clears his throat and moves to sit closer to the two, keeping a seat between them. It's close enough to make out deep wrinkles in his gray, weather-worn skin. "My name is Erandur, and I am a priest in the service of Mara. I have tasked myself with helping the people here to deal with the endless nightmares that plague them."

Aeryn shifts his hood enough to properly look at the man, showing part of his face, eyebrow raised. He glances at Argis, who shrugs a shoulder, then looks back at the priest. " _Nightmares?_ " He repeats dubiously.

"Yes, nightmares. I believe they are, um." He quickly looks around before leaning in, and Argis takes a half step forward, just to mark that it's close enough. The priest shows a slight smile before continuing in a low voice. "That they are manifestations created by the Deadric Lord Vaermina. She has an awful hunger for our memories. In return, she leaves behind nightmares not unlike a cough marks a serious illness. I must end her terrible influence over these people before the damage becomes permanent." 

Deadric lords? Ysmir's beard, now that's a whole other level of danger compared to bandits and falmer. 

They both stare at the Dunmer, Aeryn with an incredulous look on his face, and jerks when the barkeep slides a pair of keys towards him. "Uh, thank you. Can I have a tab, please?" He says, then turns back to the priest with a deep frown when the Nord turns his back on them, lowering his voice. "So, um... What _exactly_ are you going to do about that?"

"I need to return to the Nightcaller Temple, to the source of this problem, and find a way to end Vaermina's influence over these poor people. It's just outside the city's borders. It has served as a place of worship for the Deadric lord for many years."

Aeryn snorts, followed by a bitter laugh, then turns back to the barkeep. "You don't happen to have any whiskey behind there? I'll need a couple of bottles."

If battling a Deadric lord is coming up on the schedule, Argis considers ordering a glass for himself. 

Well, he's the one who longed for excitement, and what could possibly be more exciting than Dragons and Deadras?


	23. No sympathy for the wounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It seems Aeryn isn't the only one clinging on to old nightmares. And, when it accidentally comes up, it ends in the same way as always, because they just can't seem to catch a break. How in the world is Argis going to fix this one?

While Aeryn seems excited about the idea of banishing the evil of a Daedric Prince, and Argis is not, he doesn't throw himself at the quest immediately, meaning Argis gets the evening to take a break and freshen up. 

It only costs him a few coins to get a small, private space in the washroom, with a steaming tub that's _just_ small enough that he can't extend his legs while seated. There's a low buzz from the patrons in the main area that echoes down the hallway, bounces off the stone walls and mingles with the whispers, laugher, and muffled moans from inside the washroom. Steam hangs in the air, creating a dense veil of wet heat and an unpleasant blend of scented oils. The servant escorting him had asked if he wished for her to add anything to his bath, and he's glad he declined.

The washroom in Aeryn's estate in Markarth is lavish compared to this crowded space. High ceiling with a decorative pattern, well ventilated and spacious, with carved columns supporting each corner. The silver-footed tub, elevated on a platform with a couple of steps, placed underneath a roof window, so long and wide Argis had room to flex his toes while lying down and still not reach the other end. 'Unnecessary', he had thought at the time, but he finds that he misses it now.

"Gods, I'm getting spoiled," he mutters and wipes sweat off his forehead. He's grown up to appreciate the small things in life, and feeling salty over a tub isn't very appreciative.

He tries to push images of luxury away and scrubs his calf with a rough rag until the skin burns, continuing up his knee and thigh, all while doing his best to ignore the couple over on his right, hidden behind a thin, wooden divider, that doesn't even try to stay quiet. The privacy in Markarth is just as missed as the marble tub.

He only needs half of the time he bought to scrub the dirt from his body and hair, then retreats to his room, enjoying a fresh pair of clothes as his grimy under armor is in the hands of a servant, washing it for the shy cost of ten coins, which is a fifth of the price it cost in Solitude. Damn bloodsuckers.

About two hours later, after Argis' had dinner and dried his hair, he walks the slim hallway further into the building until he reaches Aeryn's door. He's been meaning to discuss this whole Daedra business with him since, while it sounds exhilarating and might be a once in a lifetime experience, Aeryn is still the Dragonborn. He's the sole person who can slay Alduin; should he really be running up against a Deadric Lord? Now, Argis knows it's not up to him to decide, but still, he wants to hear what Aeryn thinks, and knocks on the door.

"Aeryn?"

_"What?"_

"Do you have a moment?"

_"Is it important?"_

"It's about this whole nightmare business. I'd like to talk about it."

A few seconds of silence pass before feet shuffles closer, the lock clicks, and the door opens to a slim slit, enough for Aeryn's frowning face to peer through. "What about it?"

There's a familiar, glossy look in the elf's eyes that makes Argis' stomach twitch. He did bring a bottle of whiskey with him from downstairs. Has he finished it already? "I'd like to discuss whether or not it's a good idea that you put yourself at risk dealing with a Daedric Prince."

Aeryn rolls his eyes and leans heavily on the doorframe. "Fuck, could you stop being such a sap? Why would that be a problem all of a sudden?"

"Because you're the Dragonborn," he says, then quickly adds when Aeryn pinches the bridge of his nose. "Can we please just talk about it? I'm not here to try and convince you anything. I just want to share my thoughts."

"Since I care _so much_ about them," Aeryn deadpans and moves his hand from his nose to rub across his face, then meets Argis' flat smile and pointed look. "Fine," he relents after a few tense seconds and steps away from the door. "Just make it quick."

Argis pushes the door open and enters the gloomy, humid room. All curtains are closed, the roaring hearth and a few candles on the desk serve as the only sources of light. The room is the same size as Argis'; enough to fit a double bed, a desk, dresser, a couple of nightstands, and a small, round table with two chairs by the fire, without having to stumble over anything to move around. One of the nightstands has been pushed against the wall near the desk to make room for a tub, explaining the thick air and scent of lavender.

The elf sits down by the small table and gives Argis an expectant look when he locks the door, then sits down opposite him. The twist forms a knot at the empty bottle of whiskey and hardens at the half bottle of wine next to it. Aeryn clears his throat. "Well? Spit it out."

"R - right, um. Well, I gave this whole plan a thought over, and while it would be nice to help the town out with their nightmares and all that, it's a huge risk for your safety," he says and leans forward, rests his forearms on his knees and entwines his fingers between them. "We don't know what this lord is capable of, or what guards the place. We didn't even get any details from the priest."

Aeryn snorts and grabs the wine bottle off the table. "And how does this differ from running around a Dwemer ruin or... Blast a cave crawling with vampires?"

"It differs _a lot._ Have you encountered a Daedra before?"

"... Well, uh, no," Aeryn mutters and brings the bottle to his lips. "Can't be much worse than a fucking Dragon." He downs a few gulps. Argis can smell the high content of alcohol across the table. "What, you've faced one?"

"I haven't. Though I've heard and read enough stories to know that they wield powers that are far greater than any creature that walks among us." He wets his lips. "We don't even know if they're present inside the temple. If they are, the three of us might not be enough to end the curse."

"Fuck, don't you do anything other than worrying?" Aeryn throws him a tired, hazy glare. "It can't be worse than the summoning bullshit, which went perfectly fine." 

Argis' eyebrows narrow. "We barely made it out of there."

"Bah, stop exaggerating. Look." The elf downs the rest of the bottle and slams it down on the table, then lifts one leg over the other with dramatic flair. "If you don't want to come, then don't! I couldn't care less. I'm going with the priest tomorrow, whether you like it or not."

"As I said, I'm not here to tell you anything. I'm just concerned that - "

"Gods, will you shut up?" Aeryn lets out an exasperated sigh. "You're always concerned about _something_! Can't you just live a little and quit the nagging?"

Flames spark inside Argis' stomach and swirl up his chest. Ysmir's beard, he's sick of being called out for being the only one of the two that thinks one step ahead. Maybe that's why he responds without thought, "'Live a little', huh? Like getting drunk the night before storming a cursed temple?"

As the last word leaves his mouth, Argis bites his tongue, but it doesn't matter, because they're out there, and Aeryn's face shifts from its natural, annoyed expression to lip-trembling anger.

"Excuse you?"

Argis exhales slowly. At least he isn't turning pale and shaking like last time this came up. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't - "

"I'm _not_ drunk! Don't be a fucking idiot!"

Throwing his hands up, Argis sighs and leans back in the chair. What's even the point of trying to be nice anyway? "Not yet. I'm sure you've got plenty more stored away somewhere." He meets the dark glare in Aeryn's eyes and inhales, then holds his breath.

"What the fuck do you mean by that? It's none of your damn business!"

" _You_ are my _damn_ business, and if going up against a Prince of Oblivion isn't dangerous enough, doing it with a hangover is!"

"I can take care of myself!" Aeryn's voice rises into an unpleasant shrill. "I don't need your _concern!_ "

Gods, this is tiring. Argis pinches the bridge of his crooked nose. "Yeah, drinking yourself stupid is a _great_ way to look after yourself."

"Who the fuck asked for your opinion? I know _exactly_ how much I can take!"

"Oh, I'm sure," Argis says in mock conviction. "How many bottles does it take to numb the pain, exactly?"

Aeryn's mouth falls open to a shocked gawk, followed by his eyes narrowing to thin slits. "How fucking **dare** you?"

It's not like this will end in hugs and laughter anyway, and Argis' been sick of walking on glass for some time already. What's the worst that can happen? "You already know that I know why you're drinking! Stop pretending that it's a secret!"

"It's still none of your fucking business!"

"You could just **talk** about it, you know?" Argis suggests, a bit more acidly than planned, and holds his palms up. "Then, perhaps, you won't have to turn to alcohol every time something - "

"I didn't let you inside my room to listen to your goddamn rant about my drinking!" Aeryn snaps and slams his hand down the table, rattling the bottles. "We've talked about the nightmare, now piss off!"

Rushed by a wave of anger, Argis mimics the motion and bangs a fist against the table, causing Aeryn to jerk. "Maybe I don't want to watch another person drink themselves to **death!** "

Argis' throbbing pulse fills the sudden silence in the room. His knuckles whiten, nails digging into the flesh of his palms. He didn't want to bring any of this up, afraid Aeryn might take it as an attack of guilt. Still, the words venomously rolled off his tongue, and forth come the memories. It's been so long since then that the lump forming in his throat comes as a surprise.

"... What?" Aeryn spits after moments of visible confusion. 

It never seems to go according to plan whenever Argis brings something up or has a comment on... Well, anything that includes the elf. Maybe it's time to consider the idea that the two aren't supposed to become anything more than bickering acquaintances. Time will tell. And, well, here he is, and since he's the one who put it out there, so it's only fair he clears it up.

Gathering himself with a deep inhale, Argis tries to swallow the thickness. "I lost the - ... One of the most important persons in my life to drinking. It took years, but, in the end, it - ..." His voice cracks as the lump grows into his mouth. It's the one burial ceremony he doesn't wish to remember, but images of it pour into his mind. "And I, um... I tried to be there, but... It wasn't enough. And I don't - I, um." He looks away to rub a hand across his face. "... I don't want to stand by and watch it happen again."

They fall back into silence as Argis tilts his head back and blinks. Aeryn's hard breathing and the crackling from the fire fills the room as he attempts to calm the ache growing in his chest. It's been so long; he grieved for so many years, it shouldn't hurt as much as it does. Maybe some wounds simply stay open, no matter the amount of bandage.

Sure, he thought about bringing it up at some point, but not during an argument. Gods, who's he trying to fool? They're _fighting_ , not arguing. He thought about how Aeryn would react to hearing about it numerous times, not quite sure what the response would be. 

He should've known it wouldn't be with sympathy.

" _That's_ why you're here?" Aeryn hisses, his voice that pouring ice into Argis' veins. "Someone dropped dead from drinking, and now you're trying to get rid of the guilt by _fixing_ me?"

Argis' head snaps back down, and he stares baffled at the elf, meeting the look of a man who could've been stabbed in the back by his lover. "What? N - no! That's not - !"

"I can't fucking believe you!" the elf growls and springs up from the chair, grabbing it by the backrest as he stands and slamming it to the floor, the crash making Argis jump. "All these months! All these months filled with lies and patronizing, all because of some dead fucking drunk?!"

A storm of flames and ice battles inside Argis' chest as he gawks at the furious elf looming over the table, not sure whether he should get up and leave or stand his ground. It's unlikely that the elf will listen to reason, but, "No! Aeryn, _please_ , I've never lied about anything! You're getting it all wrong! It's not like - !"

"Bullshit!" Aeryn spits and flashes sharp teeth, like a feral wolf warning a bigger threat to back off. Argis inhales, steeling himself. 

"It's not bullshit! Just - "

"You don't give a fuck about me! You're only here to feel better about yourself!"

Flames dances underneath Argis' skin, despite being used to being blamed for about everything by now. He clenches his jaw. "I'm not!"

"Fucking _liar!_ " Aeryn howls, his flushed face contorting, and he grabs the empty whiskey bottle. Argis instinctively covers his face, but the bottle explodes in the hearth, and not against his head, sending shards of glass flying back into the room. "You're so full of shit! Get the fuck out of my face!"

Gods. Why does it always end up with shouting and name-calling? Can't they just have a normal discussion for once? Argis exhales shakily, trying to hold on to whatever calm he can muster. "Aeryn, I - "

" _Fuck off!_ "

The screech pierces Argis' ears like an unoiled saw, and he quickly covers one of them in hope that the ringing disappears. Mara's mercy. " _Please_ , it's got nothing to do with - "

Aeryn snarls something in Bosmerian before storming off towards the door, and Argis springs up from the chair. "Wait! Just listen, goddammit!" He regrets his decision the second his outstretched hand lands on Aeryn's shoulder, and the elf swings around and punches him across the jaw.

Pain explodes up the side of Argis' face as he stumbles sideways, reaching out for the wall to steady the pang dizziness. Silence falls between them again, a wide eye staring into a pair of blazing ones. Argis sighs and gently palms his throbbing jaw. Well, he might've deserved that one. Apparently, bow-arms are strong enough to inflict a decent amount of pain. Good to know that Aeryn wouldn't be helpless in a fist-fight. Not that physical weakness has stopped him from bull-rushing Orcs.

"... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to - "

"If I see you again, I'll slit your fucking throat."

Argis stomach falls as Aeryn disappears out of the room, and the door slams shut behind him. Resisting the urge to run after, he drops back down onto the chair and stares into the sputtering flames. 

Great. Just what he needs; another reason for Aeryn to dislike him. Shit. Whenever he gets a step closer to befriend the elf, he gets thrown ten steps back due to one of these stupid-ass fights.

"Dammit," he mutters and drags a hand down his face, carefully rubs his sore jaw. He wouldn't go through all of this only to atone for the past, to get rid of the lingering guilt. Right?

No. He's protecting the Dragonborn; he'd do that no matter the circumstances. He wouldn't sit through all of these arguments and fights for any other reason than Aeryn's health and safety. Though... Sure, whenever the elf drinks enough to wobble to bed, it's like he's back being twenty-five, helplessly watching his hero down a sixth tankard of mead while rambling about how worthless he is. Or, whenever Aeryn tells him off to mind his own business, it feels like he's berated for getting involved in matters that absolutely _does_ affect him, but...

Argis' mouth runs dry as cold dread trickles down his spine. Gods, he's... No. No, he didn't come along because of that. Right? He'd never...

He rises from the chair and turns to stare at the door, guts twisting into nausea, and fists his hair. 

" _Shit._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wishing you all a lovely new years eve! Thank you for coming along with me this year, and cheers for another filled with drama, hurt and, further down the road, happiness.
> 
> I love you all! Take care of yourselves, and I'll see you next year <3


	24. A prison of heart, a prisoner of mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yet again, Aeryn has stormed off in a fit of rage, and Argis does what he does best; goes to look for him, ready to apologize for the drama he (wants to believe he) didn't cause. And, where does he find the guy? Well, not in the forest.

It appears that, since leaving Markarth, nothing goes according to plan.

Argis would love to blame it all on Aeryn for being an ignorant, stubborn asshole. Everything would be much easier if he just quit pretending that he's _fine_ and started opening up about whatever demons are poisoning his mind, instead of turning to alcohol and silence.

It definitely would take the guilt away.

There's no way Argis would go through all of this for his own sake, but it seems that the complete truth is a bit more complicated than that. Perhaps he always knew that this burning desire to ease Aeryn's need for alcohol is partly rooted in old traumas, but admitting it would be admitting that he isn't over it. Though, as much as it hurts, it isn't nearly as painful as the look on Aeryn's face when he misread the whole situation, that Argis' been pretending to care about him this entire time.

He shouldn't have brought this up. He's refrained from mentioning it because he knew it would blow up like this. Aeryn hasn't shown anything close to sympathy towards him, so what was he expecting to happen? Hugs and shoulder pats and understanding?

"Stupid," he mutters against his palm, then carefully drags his hand off his face. The ache in his jaw is bad enough to throb, but hardly anything to write home about, and the twisted knot in his stomach overtakes the worst of it. Part of him thinks Aeryn exaggerated with that punch, though he knows he shouldn't have grabbed him in the first place, very well remembering what happened last time. Also, the elf's extreme ups and downs are as common as snow around these parts, so he should've seen it coming. That's how he reacts to everything that doesn't suit him, isn't it? With violence and screaming. Like a kid.

Sighing, Argis crosses the room to the closest window, pushing the curtain aside. The moon's out, which doesn't mean it's late, but it's pitch black outside the city borders. And if Aeryn has run off into the woods, then...

Ysmir's beard, why does it always have to come to this? He just wanted to have a perfectly normal discussion and vent some worries, but no, Aeryn doesn't do those. No, he'll deal with _anything_ and _everything_ in whatever way fits him. And the main tactic suiting him is anger. Has he always been like this, or did something else happen when he crossed the border to Skyrim? Other than landing with his head on a chopping block.

"Stubborn."

It takes another five minutes debating whether he should look for Aeryn or not, weighing in facts such as 'the elf can fend for himself, doesn't need assistance, isn't stupid enough to wander off and get lost', though, adding 'he's impulsive, has no mind for consequences, and continues to throw himself into dangerous situations he's not fit for whenever his in an unstable mood.'

Argis needs to find him.

He returns to his room and gets his armor on before locking up behind him, strides down the slim hallways, and descends the stairs. The dining area is busier now in the later hour, the rowdy crowd hollering and laughing with drums playing in the background, the air thick of sweet mead and iron. Argis pays them little mind as he maneuvers the groups, some dancing, others arguing, and almost makes it to the door when a hand lands on his arm.

"Ey, ey, big guy! Wanna make some coins?"

Argis rolls his eye and sighs. Great, what now? He turns by the hip and glances down, meeting the beaming face of an Imperial, a mischievous grin stretching his lips around crooked teeth and nothing but trouble glittering in his eyes.

"No," Argis grunts and attempts to move away, but the man slides his arm into his. He narrows his eye. "Let go."

"Now, now, no reason to get all grumpy without hearing the offer!" the man insists in a silky voice. Whatever type of businesses he's into, it surely can't be anything good. "I can promise you that - "

"Let go." It isn't a warning as much as a command, and dropping an octave appears to give the man pause, as he stops trying to pull him back into the room. "I have no time for you."

"Well, _surely_ you have time for a good deal, eh? The price pays well!"

By Ysmir, when did he become a beacon for swindlers and wenches? "No."

The Imperial studies him, the lines around his eyes twitching barely enough to notice, and the grin turns into a sugary smile. Argis nose wrinkles. "Well, big guy, that'll be an immense loss, I'll say! You look like a smart fellow! You sure you don't want to hear what I have to say? I can _assure_ it'll be worth your ti - "

"Let me go before I make you," Argis growls, muscles tensing under the man's intrusive hands. He's got to find Aeryn before the elf ends up dead or another, and whatever _offer_ this man is willing to make him's got 'scam' written all over it. Argis knows because he's been that stupid once, and one time was all it took.

A tense pause follows, but the Imperial retracts his arm, a sour look of defeat breaking through the well-versed, charming smirk. "Well." He brushes invisible dust off Argis' shoulder and clears his throat, summoning a honey-dripping tone. "Should you change your mind, which I'm sure you will, as any man with some sense, you just come see me, hm? I'll be here all night, Eligius Mohren, at your service. Just come around when - "

Argis doesn't care enough to stay and listen and pushes past the man out into the crispy air. He'd either end up with an impossible debt of some sort by being offered coin or drugs or someone unwilling's body, or agree to go on a suicide mission for a made-up sum of coins he'll never see. Either because he'll die trying because the mission is a setup, or get killed once he returns.

Though, speaking of suicide mission, he's barely made it out with his head intact on several occasions now since joining the Dragonborn, all for a good cause, though. Well, there was the matter of the shipwreck. Argis asked about this supposed 'rescue operation' before they arrived in Dawnstar, only to learn that it had been some _"Bullshit to get me on board"_ , as he put it. There wasn't anything heroic with putting the lighthouse out, as Aeryn was lead to believe. Argis couldn't help but wonder if he'd be swayed by an offer like that, had he stood in Aeryn's shoes. Probably not.

Shifting focus back to the matter at hand, Argis starts by scouting the small harbor. Not that he fears that the elf has fallen in, he wasn't _that_ drunk when he left the inn, so if nothing, it's for the sake of his own mind that he wants to make sure that he hasn't drowned, and makes a slow walk along the empty waterfront. 

Moonlight shimmers across the black surface, illuminating nothing but the ship and boats swaying in the calm water. It's quiet for all but the lulling waves lapping on the beach, distant chatter of a pair of patrolling guards, and a small group of people laughing as they leave the inn, crossing the snow-covered, round plaza on wobbly legs, all hanging onto each other as they sway their way home. 

Argis exhales the breath he apparently held as he searched the water when he finds it free of floating bodies and starts walking around the town.

Maybe his mother wasn't entirely out of her mind all those times she told him off for worrying too much, as he's now checking slim alleyways in search of the same person who takes down Dragon's without breaking too much of a sweat. The same person who just threatened to kill him if they cross paths again. Maybe Argis would do good to heed the warning, but, honestly, when wasn't the elf swearing doom and death on him for merely existing in his vicinity?

And, if they were to part, it has to be done under specific rules and writing, as a "fuck off" doesn't suffice in terms of their contract, no matter how many times Aeryn has told him he's free to leave whenever he wishes. If you pay a hireling and tell them to get lost once whatever job or service is done, fine, but this is a bit more complicated.

Also, not only would Argis risk dooming the world if he left the elf to his own, but he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he left the struggling guy alone to carry everyone's burdens while dragging his own, pained past around.

No, Argis takes the risk of having his throat slit if it means he can find Aeryn and ensure that he's safe. While he doesn't undermine the elf's desire to actually kill him, it probably won't be much worse than the hundreds of times before that Aeryn exploded into a fit of rage, and Argis stood waiting for the fire to die out while the elf threatened to skin him, stab him, shoot him or strangle him in his sleep.

A couple strolls past him as he rounds the 'The Mortar and Pestle', the worn sign barely readable in the dark, and Argis asks if they might've seen an elf storming by, to no avail.

Maybe he should go back to the inn? There's always the chance that Aeryn will come back once he's cooled down. He's probably stomping around and kicking the snow, and knowing his limited resistance to cold, he'll probably come back if only to warm up. And get drunker. And ignore Argis until he makes the first attempt of talking. But, at least he'd be safer inside.

After a second lap around town, Argis loses hope. The chance of him finding Aeryn if he ran off into the forest is slim, and there's the risk of him getting lost, so waiting at the bar would be his best option. Still, it doesn't feel right to give up, and he contemplates getting his weapons and at least scout the perimeter of the surrounding forest when he passes two guards chatting on the porch of the barracks.

"... and just like that, he snapped! Knocked Torben out before I got a chance to react, quicker than a snake!"

"Yer so full of shit, Leif."

"No, I'm serious! Complete maniac! He didn't even back down when Arei and Joar came to help out. Arei had to knock him out cold!"

Argis slows his steps in order to listen to the conversation, a strange feeling growing in his stomach. It couldn't be. Could it?

"What, no kidding? Shit. How big was the lad?" 

"That's the freaky part! He wasn't taller than this." The guard levels his hand to the middle of his chest, and Argis fights the urge to laugh. Of course Aeryn would storm out and straight into a fist-fight. With a _guard_ , nonetheless. While it's preferable to him freezing to death in the forest, learning that the elf's been beaten down to the ground isn't _that_ relieving. He approaches the two men and clears his throat.

They both turn towards him, and the nameless man with a thick, dark beard sticking out from under his helmet is the first to speak. "Yes? Can we help you?"

"Yes, I think so. I overheard you talking about an assault? The guy you mentioned, he wouldn't happen to be a Bosmer? This tall, red hair, a lot of jewelry, black armor?"

Leif grunts. "That's a very specific description. Do you know this person?"

"Um, yes, he's a fr - ..." They're as far off as 'friends' could possibly be, aren't they? Argis swallows a sigh. "We travel together. We, err, argued, and he was in a bad mood when he ran off. A bit drunk, as well."

"I see," Leif says slowly, bitterness taking tone in his voice, and narrows his eyes, making them difficult to spot in the shadow of his helmet. "Well, yes, that's the guy. He's holed up in a cell."

Expecting as much, Argis shows an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry if he caused trouble for you."

"Trouble?" Leif scoffs. "He damn well broke a friend's face! Guy's jaw is completely - "

"Simmer down, Leif, 's not this man's business," his fellow guard mutters, then turns to Argis, who's eyebrows almost meets his hairline, and jabs a thumb at the building behind him. "He's downstairs."

Broke someone's face? That can't be Aeryn. "Right. Can I see him?"

"Sure," the guard replies quickly when Leif's posture stiffens. "Talk to the guard inside, she'll show you the way. You can tell her we sent ya."

"Thank you, I appreciate that." Argis nods solemnly and ascends the few steps up the porch, through the fury vibrating around Leif, and enters the building.

The upper-level of the barracks are similar to any other worn wooden structure, with heavy logs for walls, thick beams, and a couple of, well, barred windows. Argis meets a guard just inside the door, sitting behind a desk with neat piles of parchments. He doesn't need to mention much about the incident for her to know who he's talking about, and she leads him down the stairs.

Entering the lowest level, he's greeted by a sour smell of mildew and must that makes his nose wrinkle. The area closest to the door is raised from the rest of the room where the cells are, well-lit by chandeliers and lanterns. A few guards are gathered around a table, playing cards from the looks of it, all lifting their heads when they enter.

The woman points down the large hall. "Last cell on the right. Either he's in for the week, or he pays the fine." She huffs as she turns to leave. "And an apology to the poor man would be appreciated."

As Aeryn appears to be made of money, that part won't be a problem. Apologizing, though? "Thank you. I'll talk to him." Not that he thinks it'll make a difference, but who knows? Maybe the elf surprises him this time.

The cells are empty, say for two, Argis only noting the presence of figures inside them as he walks down the wide hallway, his steps echoing up the massive stone blocks forming the walls. There are no windows down here, and the wall sconces struggle to light up more than their immediate surrounding, casting flickering shadows between the bars of the bleak cells as he passes.

He stops before reaching the last cell on his right and inhales, prepares himself to be berated for existing, and steps out in front of the bars. The view between them pours ice into his veins, and whatever courage he summoned is punched out of his chest. By the Nine, what did the elf get tangled up in this time?

Aeryn is slumped against the sidewall of the cramped space, arms loosely wrapped around his knees and forehead dropped against them. He's stripped down to his under armor, curled up what might be a sleeping roll laid out on scattered hay, the air around him seeping with gloom. He doesn't even flinch when Argis clears his throat, though he's sure the elf noticed his presence before he made a sound.

"Hey," Argis calls softly, getting no reaction. "Heard you took quite the beating out there. You alright?"

Again, he's met with silence. Argis sighs and rubs a calloused palm across his face, then folds his arms and leans a shoulder against the cool bars, gaze landing on his boots. What was he expecting? He made an ass of himself bringing that whole 'past' situation up, and Aeryn thinks he's been used as guilt-relief for, what, almost three months? And, lo and behold, it isn't entirely untrue.

"Look, I'm sorry," he exhales, scuffing the heel of his boot on the uneven floor. He keeps his voice low that the guards, and other prisoners, hopefully doesn't hear him. "I wasn't planning on bringing that up, it just... Came out. And I want you to know that I haven't lied to you about anything. Not my reasons to join you, and not that I care about you." He glances into the cell, but Aeryn doesn't budge. "Though, it seems that, um... I haven't been unaffected by the... Drinking situation. I guess I didn't realize until you got the idea that I've... Been using you. Which I haven't, though I suppose it's easy to see that way."

When he glances over again, Aeryn's nose has popped up, resting onto his knees, but he remains silent. Hair hangs down his forehead, the neatly combed up crest of a mohawk lying flat down the side of his head, making him look impossibly more like a sad puppy. Now, Argis didn't force him into this situation, but damn if he doesn't feel a twang of guilt seeing him like this. If he were in there, he'd have to fight the urge to give the guy a hug.

"I thought I was done grieving years ago, but you've made me aware that it still hurts. Or, well, it always has, I guess, and when you brought it up I... Remember, some moments, I've... Connected the dots, but I didn't - ... Shit." He struggles to collect his thoughts and translate them into proper words, sighing at the lack of organization in his head. "I guess I just... Pushed it aside, or didn't recognize it." It's not what he planned to say, but it's something. "I thought about mentioning it at some point, but I figured you wouldn't take it very well."

A quiet snort sounds from the cell, but nothing more. Argis sighs and prays that the sincerity bleeds through when he continues, "I'm sorry it came out as it did. I don't want to burden you with my old wounds. You've got nothing to do with them, and it's up to me to make sure they don't affect you. My job is to protect and serve you, not involve you in my private matters."

A burst of laugher echoes down the hall, the guards enjoying the lack of disruption in the city. Whatever Aeryn got himself into probably was enough excitement for the rest of the week. "Anyway." Argis clears his throat. "I never wanted to... Project this onto you, and I really am sorry."

Movement catches his eye, and Aeryn slowly unfolds, head held low, but he shifts into a cross-legged position, fiddling with his fingertips in his lap. "Who, um... Who was it?" he asks quietly, and Argis thinks he hears a lisp in his voice.

He opens his mouth, stills, then closes it again. "It doesn't matter," he says somberly with a shake of his head and kicks a small piece of gravel across the floor. It's bad enough that he spit that old story out; he doesn't need to rub a handful of salt into the wound, for either of them. "It's in the past anyway, and it's none of your concern. You've got enough on your mind as it is." He smiles weakly as the elf pulls at the hem of a sleeve, rolls the fabric between his fingertips. "I'll make sure to deal with it, so you won't be bothered by my past. And that my past doesn't cloud my judgment."

Aeryn inhales sharply, then stills. Argis holds his breath, watches him gently rub the back of his left hand. Wonder how bad the injuries are. "How do you... Deal with that?"

The weakness in his voice blanks Argis' mind out and drops a boulder down his stomach. He blinks at the pitiful shape of the mighty Dragonborn, who finally peers up at him from his spot in the cold, dusty old cell. Faint, orange light flickers across his face, illuminating the greens in his eyes and the exhaustion looking out from behind them. 

Argis' breath catches in his throat when he meets the lustrous gaze, like staring into the glowing eyes of a Spriggan, in all her mystical, deadly wonder. The magic, though, is short-lived, as Argis' stomach drops further when he discovers the swelling on the side of Aeryn's face, tracing it around a split eyebrow, a soon-to-be gruesome black eye, and a gash splitting both his lips. Mara's mercy, he looks like someone stomped on his face. Repeatedly.

It takes all of Argis' might not to throw a thousand questions about the elf's well-being, like, what in the name of The Nine he did to deserve that, and has he gotten any healing potions? He swallows the concern bubbling up his chest, as now is not the time.

Instead, he produces a lopsided smile and gently shrugs a shoulder. "Coming to terms with it is the first step, I guess. Then, well. I have a good friend who's been with me through a lot that I'll write, get some outside perspective of the situation. Generally, writing helps, just putting words to the feelings. I'll probably grieve, possibly shed some tears, maybe hit a tree with a stick." He shrugs again, his smile growing when Aeryn looks at him like he revealed himself to be a werewolf again. "It doesn't have to be complicated."

Aeryn nudges the gash in his upper lip with the tip of his tongue, calculations rushing behind his eyes just like when he's working on new concoctions, before his gaze goes out of focus, disappearing to whatever dimension holds his thoughts. Argis waits patiently as the elf seemingly struggles to come up with words, swallowing and huffing and shifting around.

"What if..." he licks his lip again, nose twitching at the apparent discomfort. "The _thing_ is... Complicated?"

Argis' pulse skitters, forcing him to cough behind his hand not to beam at the vulnerable man and risk offending him. These moments are so rare, and maybe Argis is out of his mind for trying to collect them, as Aeryn has shown nothing but dislike towards him and his attempts, but each tiny grain of progress the elf makes in sorting out his mess of a head reignites that spark of hope that there's more to this guy than bitterness. Maybe Argis can't fix the elf, but it doesn't mean he can't still offer a hand to support him on the way.

"Well, I'm no healer," Argis says, keeping his tone as casual as possible, "so I couldn't tell you for sure, but I don't see why there would be a difference. All I know is, the longer you sit on the problem, the bigger it'll get."

A pout forms on Aeryn's swollen lips, and he averts his gaze. "Amazing," he mutters.

"But." Argis shifts a bit to rest the side of his head against a bar. Aeryn's eyes dart back to him. "It's never impossible. Might take time, but everything does. I guess dealing with... _Things_ can be scary, and it might hurt, but it gets better."

They fall back into silence, and Argis can't help but smile at the now-familiar frown on Aeryn's face. His forehead wrinkles in the same way when he's measuring powders or aiming an arrow. Like he's trying to put two and two together and foresee the result. 

"For what it's worth, I think you'll do fine," Argis offers sincerely and crosses his ankles. "Whatever you put your head into, you get it done, and this will be no different. And...You know I'm not always good with words, but, if you need, I'll listen." He meets the forest spirit gleaming in Aeryn's weary eyes. Except for anger, it's one of the most honest emotions he's seen reflected in them. Imagine having to get beaten to a pulp and thrown in a cell to be brave, or exhausted, enough to let it show. It makes him feel a bit honored. "The offer still stands, as always. You don't have to do this alone."

Aeryn blinks, his gaze narrowing, then dropping, then finds something interesting to study on the opposite wall. Whatever emotions or thoughts are rushing in the background, he doesn't voice any of them. Then, he clears his throat.

"How about you get me out of here?" he says, the attempted nonchalance not quite breaking through.

It's not much, but Argis smiles, glad the disaster could end in something better than just screaming and punching. He nods. Though, speaking of punching,

"How are your injuries? Can you stand?"

"Meh, they're fine," Aeryn replies and unfolds his legs. Argis snorts quietly and rolls his eye. _Always fine._ With his right hand, Aeryn holds onto the wall and gets up on his feet. Though a bit unsteady, he seems pretty much alright, say for his wreck of a face that looks even worse in the light. There's dry blood smeared around the gashes and his bloodshot eye, all in need of a proper clean-up and treatment. "Someone came around and healed my hand, but didn't bother with the rest." He snorts offendedly, wincing in pain immediately afterward. "I've got enough stuff in my bag to fix, uh..." he gesticulates to his face. "This."

Argis frowns and drops his gaze to the elf's left hand, which he holds to his chest. "Your hand?"

A crooked, sheepish smile forms on Aeryn's lips when he wiggles his fingers a little. "Broke it."

"You broke your hand...?" Argis blinks in puzzlement and stands straight, shifting so he can look directly at the elf, who averts his gaze. "What did you do? I heard you punched someone, but..." He finds himself at a loss for words as he can't possibly imagine how Aeryn managed to 'break someone's face' when he barely bruised Argis' jaw just now. 

Aeryn pokes his tongue inside his cheek and shrugs a little. "I may have, uh... Shouted."

"You _what?_ " Argis gawks at the elf, who smiles hesitantly, awkwardly, around his split lips. He snorts a laugh and shakes his head, honey-blond strands falling down his eyes, and settles his hands on his hips. He shouldn't be surprised. "Which Shout?"

"The, uh, Whirlwind Sprint one I told you about."

Argis jaw drops an inch, followed by a chuckle as he rubs a hand down his face. Gods, what a comical view; the Dragonborn, one of the most powerful beings alive, admitting to using a Shout to sprint-punch a man while shuffling his feet and staring at the floor, like he was fifteen and caught by his mother sneaking out at night, rather than a mortal whose veins flow with the blood of Dragons.

"Why did you punch him?"

Aeryn rolls his eyes. "Can we, like, not do this in prison? I'd like to get back to the inn. This place isn't as comfortable as it looks."

"Fair enough. But we are talking about it... Right?" Pushy, he knows, but after the screaming and punching and having to be paid out of jail, it's the least the elf can do.

"Yes, whatever," Aeryn groans. "I'll tell you, just get me out of here." There's a look Argis has never seen before when Aeryn meets his gaze with a tilted head, shoulders sloping, eyes tired but... Soft. Tender, almost, the sharp contrast to the regular hardness creating a ball of fluff that bounces around inside his chest. "... Please?"

Oh. So, that's what pleading looks like. Argis blinks and unconsciously stores the image away in the back of his head, together with the beaming smiles and cackling laugher.

"They'll want an apology," he says, and the kindness fades in an instant. Aeryn snorts.

"Not fucking happening."

"Come on, just tell them you're sorry? Whatever happened, the guy got badly injured. Please?"

With Argis turn to plead, he flashes a small, encouraging smile at the disgust forming behind the swelling in Aeryn's face. He waits for the contemplating to be done, and the elf grumbles a "fine" without meeting his gaze.

"Alright, I'll go talk to them and get the payment sorted out, and we'll be back at the inn in no time, okay?"

"Yeah."

Argis turns on his heels and takes a couple of steps when a quiet "thank you" sounds behind him. He stops for a few seconds, then continues ahead with a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and a flutter in his chest.

As complicated and messy as Aeryn, and everything around him, appears to be, he isn't impossible. And, while doing a good job of keeping that stern, emotionless facade, seeing more evidence of vulnerability only piques Argis' curiosity further.

What if there truly is a kind-hearted, sympathetic being beneath all of that anger? If so, what scared him into hiding?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, lovelies! I hope you're all doing well <3


	25. Shattering reflections and aching souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aeryn licks his wounds, but somehow more keeps opening, and what little control he still has over his life is slipping through his fingers. But, to his rescue, as furious as it makes him, is Argis, ready to pick up the pieces he's too broken to carry alone.

"Looks like I'm sleeping alone tonight."

Argis head perks up in the mirror. "Hm?"

"Nothing," Aeryn mutters bitterly and dabs the brightly colored swelling around his eye. Nope, this pretty fucking face isn't going to fetch anything worthy to share sheets with. Great.

No one needs to tell him how stupid it was to get into that fight; then again, he's used to having people kindly inform him that he's done nothing but stupid shit since the day he was born.

"Idiots," he grumbles under his breath, followed by a hiss when he accidentally jabs a finger at the sore area around his eyebrow. The splits healed quickly enough once he downed a minor potion, though half of the content spilled right back out between his wrecked lips, and the bruising is all that's left. As proficient as he is with his right hand and bow, he can't use it to thread a needle to save his life, and delicately treating his throbbing face with a blurry eye is somewhere around that level.

"You okay?" comes Argis' soft voice from behind him, and Aeryn glances at the Nord's reflection, meets the concerned frown illuminated by the candles balancing on the washbasin. He rolls his eyes, immediately regretting it when sharp pain flashes across his face. He groans. Fuck this. Fuck everything. Why is he still doing this? He can't take a step in any direction and not ruin something, or someone, and here he is, busted out of jail for knocking out a guard after treating the one person who's dumb enough to stick around like a piece of flaming shit. Not that it seemed to deter the man as he is, for some reason, still there, perched on Aeryn's bed, stiff as a stick, as if he's waiting for Aeryn to suddenly collapse and spring to his rescue.

Dumb as a rock.

No, that's unfair to rocks.

Dumb as a doorknob. Yeah, that's it.

"It's fine," Aeryn mutters and returns his attention to the mess. He scoops up more of the mixture on his finger and tries to command it to stop shaking when smearing it over his cheek. Everything about this day has been exhausting, and he shouldn't fault himself for being caught up by fatigue by now; they rode half a day, fought off bandits and spiders and ice wraiths, got to a new city with new people and new problems, and he barely got a chance to relax before getting into a fight. Though, by the look on his face, it turned into a minor massacre. Not that he remembers - after throwing the punch, he blacked out, either because of the Shout or because he got knocked out by one of the guards. Seeing the gruesome result, the biggest surprise was not having any fractures - that he knows of, at least.

He glances at Argis again and silently curses the strike of guilt. Well, two fights. His eyes shift down to his backpack by his feet. Inside, there's a compartment sewn to safely hold whatever wine and liquor he comes across so that they don't break, and if they do, they won't stain the rest of his belongings.

_"How many bottles does it take to numb the pain, exactly?"_

He unconsciously pokes the tip of his tongue against the inside of his cheek, wincing when it stings. 

How many? Fuck if he knows; he stopped counting over a year ago. As many as it takes to fall asleep. To drown out his fucked up head. To keep the panic at bay.

However many it takes to feel something other than hurt and disappointment.

"Is it?"

If he could, he'd scowl at the worried expression looking back in the mirror, but is forced to settle with a narrow glare, spitting, "Well, what the fuck does it look like, then?"

"Like you're in a lot of pain."

"I always am," comes rolling off his tongue before he gets a chance to hear how it sounds, and a spark of panic chills his stomach. "W - well, like, I'm always bleeding somewhere, aren't I? Shot or, uh... Stabbed, or... Whatever."

The Nord hums, not affirmative, rather contemplative, and Aeryn hates him even more. He had high hopes that Argis would be like one of those goons he paid to keep a look on his back in Whiterun; dull, simple-minded, all biceps and little brain, and easily swayed to keep him warm at night. Argis, on the other hand, doesn't seem to fit any of those shoes.

"You don't have to babysit me," he says, then clenches his jaw with a muffled hiss, skin stinging under his clumsy touch. "I've already wasted your entire evening." And the last couple of months of his life.

"Don't worry about that. I'm just glad the guards let you go."

Aeryn snorts. They looked displeased when Argis paid the two hundred gold fine off his head and escorted him out of there. He even apologized and everything. "If it were up to them, they'd leave me to rot down there."

"Well, you _did_ break that guy's jaw."

"Maybe he shouldn't have been such an asshole," Aeryn grumbles, then and snarls a curse when he stabs himself with a nail. Tension thickens in the room when he grabs the edge of the basin, knuckles whitening around it as he tries to summon a speck of patience to finish treating his face, inhaling slow and hard. He's too tired for this shit, and not nearly drunk enough.

And if that hadn't been another thorn in his eye, learning that Argis has lost an important person to drinking? That his own drinking has likely been a painful reminder every day since they met, that this man for some goddamn reason puts up with because of his stupid sense of duty? It truly doesn't matter what Aeryn does; he'll always disappoint someone, whether on purpose or not.

Stones sink down his stomach as his breathing calms, head dropping between his shoulders together with his willpower. He never wanted any of this. Skyrim was supposed to be the change he needed to settle into a new life, a _calm_ life, and what did it do? Somehow ruin everything even further. 

_"C'mon, sweetheart, stop sulking. You'll love Skyrim! And Riften is beautiful this time a year, all sunshine and bloom. Who knows, might even melt that frown off your face!"_

He'd gotten sick enough of the nagging after all those months that he finally relented and agreed to cross the border, how did it turn out? Disaster.

_Just one push, you weak fuck, then sleep. Clean up, then whiskey, then sleep._

Aeryn steels himself with a deep inhale and stands up straight, ignoring the look of concern watching him in the mirror and stares at his disappointing reflection. All he needs to do is coat the swelling and wrap a poultice around his hand, and he's done for the day.

By the time he's managed to get the mixture all over his injuries, Aeryn's blood is near boiling from each jab and scratch and sting. Argis doesn't speak a word, which is for the best, because Aeryn would've stabbed his throat if he came with any remarks on how poorly he's doing. He could just order the Nord to leave his room, couldn't he? He blames the exhaustion for letting him stay, furiously denying that he's grown accustomed to the idiot's existence.

Now, all that's left to do is get going with the poultice, but as he shakily holds the jar in his sore left hand and fights to fit the lid back on, it slips between his fingers. Aeryn freezes when it snaps in three clean pieces against the floor, and the light blue cream splashes over his fluffy, pretty socks.

Time slows while he stares at the mess, partly in shock, partly in astonishment. A lifeless laugh pushes past his lips. He shouldn't be surprised since life has served him nothing but misery, but that knowledge isn't enough to stop his body from trembling. 

Rage comes crashing down like a wave of liquid fire that coils up his spine, and whatever the Nord is saying doesn't push past his thundering pulse. He grabs the closest thing he finds and hurls it across the room with a cry.

The glass shatters into a thousand bits against the wall, and Aeryn slams his healthy fist down against the decorative piece of oak framing the washbasin. Multilingual profanities spill from his lips as he bangs his hand down, again and again, rattling the candles. 

_Useless, useless, goddamn fucking useless piece of shit,_ the voice echoes inside his head, like he doesn't know that already. The Gods got it wrong; he isn't able to save anyone; he can't even save himself. The running, the hiding, the fighting, the politics, the endless travels, almost getting assassinated, the panic attacks, the injuries, the responsibility, losing everything, and scrambling to find an ounce of stability in a world where nothing makes sense. 

_Useless._

"Fuck!"

Adrenaline numbs the stinging pain in his face as it scrunches up, and the ache building in his hand isn't enough to... To hurt. Gods, fuck, he needs it to hurt so bad, but when he lifts the left one and bangs it down in the hope to feel _anything_ , it lands on something soft and squishy, something that's definitely not oak.

It cracks open the darkness behind his eyes and stir his mind back, and he stills in a heartbeat. His bruised fist sits in Argis' palm; his large hand spread out on the basin like a fleshy, calloused cushion. 

Aeryn's chest heaves as he glares at it, as if he could frighten the Nord's hand to slither away, but nothing happens. He could always slap it aside, tell him to leave and curl up into a pathetic ball and drink himself to sleep. Gods, that would be for the best, wouldn't it? Shield Argis from everything that's wrong with him, so he doesn't inevitably drag him down this black hole of misery.

"You should leave," he says and stares down his faint reflection in the rippling water. Gods, he's so fucking embarrassing. 

Argis exhales slowly behind him, a warm, feathery touch that smooths down Aeryn's neck, further soothing the flames. His voice is quiet, perhaps afraid to stir his anger back. Aeryn wouldn't blame him if that's the case, "Do you want me to leave?"

Y'ffre, why does he always bounce it back? He's in no shape to make proper decisions.

"Do you always question everything, _Housecarl?_ " he says. Argis exhales a short huff.

"No. But I have no reason to leave unless you want me to."

Aeryn snorts and glances at their hands. His forearm is resting onto Argis', making the difference in size seem outrageous, the Nord's almost double the width. Not to speak of their hands; Argis' open palm looks close to the size of a fruit bowl, whereas Aeryn's might stretch across a cup plate. If Argis tried, he'd easily crush Aeryn's aching fist. He doesn't. He simply lets Aeryn's hand rest in his, making no attempts to remove or shift it. Letting him decide what he wants. Gods, how is the Nord so fucking _warm_?

"This pathetic fucking display isn't enough?"

"Nothing about this, or you, is pathetic. If you were under any more pressure, you'd turn into a diamond."

A laugh bubbles up in spite of everything, and Aeryn peers into the mirror, shrugging. "Diamonds are pretty, though."

The Nord's forehead wrinkles. "That's not what I mean."

When Aeryn rolls his eyes, it doesn't hurt as much as the arnica and ice wraith mixture tingles across his face, soothing the swelling. He looks down at the mess on the floor; the cream on his feet has soaked through his socks. The stains will never come off. Aeryn sighs. "I'd rather be a diamond than a fucking failure."

Argis huffs, a loud, offended sound that jerks his entire body, down to the hand resting under Aeryn's loose fist. "You're _not_ a failure," he states, and Aeryn looks up to meet a stern gaze and a deep frown in the mirror. "Why would you even think that?"

_If you only knew._

Aeryn shoots him an incredulous look. "Didn't you bail me out of jail, like, two hours ago?"

"You're hardly the only one who's been jailed for picking a fight," Argis shoots back with that annoying, matter-of-factly voice. 

"I punched you right before that."

"I was the one who grabbed you, so it was my mistake."

"I almost got stabbed in the back."

"You were attacked, so that's hardly your fault."

"But I would've been dead if I was alone!"

"Good thing I was there, then, since it's my job to keep you alive."

The vein in Aeryn's forehead throbs. "I get incapacitated by panic."

"I believe I've been clear on my opinions about that."

"I caused the death of an entire crew _and_ a patrol."

The subject gives Argis pause, and Aeryn is about to declare himself victorious before he speaks,

"I know, and while it still bothers me, I also know you didn't do it on purpose. You were lead to believe it was for a good cause."

Goddammit.

"W - well," he sputters. "I'm supposed to be some fucking _God given hero_ and I can't even keep my temper in check!"

Argis raises his eyebrows and gives him a look something like _"oh, you've realized that just now?"_ and Aeryn wants to claw that stupid face off.

"I know," he says, and Aeryn mentally locates the dagger underneath his pillow. If he makes a dash for it - "Though, I distinctly remember you telling me the first time we met at home that, after all, you're 'just a person,' and with everything going on, no one can't blame you for faltering from time to time. But, you know." His eyebrow quirks, and there's a faint gleam of amusement in his eye. "I'm expecting nothing less by now."

Aeryn blinks. "You're _expecting_ me to blow up?"

"Well, yes."

"About what?"

"Uh. Everything."

"... Rude."

"Tactical. Honestly, I don't know what sets you off," Argis goes on when Aeryn inhales to retort, showing a friendly smile. "So, I've been thinking, maybe, if you perhaps... _Told_ me what I do to upset you, instead of, you know, threatening to kill me, then I can leave you alone when you're in a bad mood."

What, they're supposed to communicate all of a sudden? Gods, what is this?

"When am I not in a bad mood?" Aeryn spits at the mirror, getting a chuckle in return. The nerve of this fucking guy.

"When you're in a _worse_ mood, then."

Fuck, more talking? Isn't it enough with the hundreds of questions and discussing quests and _shit_ he's supposed to go clear out a haunted temple tomorrow morning.

"What's wrong?" Argis asks when Aeryn's entire posture slumps with a groan, and he brings his less-wrecked hand to cup the less-wrecked side of his face.

"I've got to take care of the nightmare thing tomorrow."

Argis stays quiet for some time, frowning, lips twitching, while Aeryn tries to figure out how the fuck he's going to heal his face without the _goddamn cream that's melted onto the floor and his beloved socks_ so he's able to see properly and, right, his hand is still wrecked. "Fuck, I can't even keep track of - "

"You know what?" Argis interrupts, a grave expression on his face. "Maybe we should take the day off tomorrow."

Aeryn stares at him, body stiffening, then barks a hollow laugh. "I - what? The day _off_? I don't know if heard that that the _entire town_ is suffering because of this fucking temple?"

"I know, I know." Argis holds his free hand up. "Just listen, okay?"

The awkward frown forming on Aeryn's face is enough of a tell that he's not going to listen and is, in fact, about to argue, but he gets caught off guard when Argis gingerly lands the hand on his shoulder. 

Despite watching his reflection, he winces when it settles, and he meets Argis' wary gaze that's silently asking for permission to keep it there. Heat radiates through the fabric of Aeryn's shirt and spreads across his skin, prickles it, his body involuntary relaxing underneath it like a kit caught by its mom by the neck. The moment of confusion is enough for Argis to catch his attention.

"I'm not suggesting we do nothing, but you can't go fighting either monsters or daedra like this," he says softly. Aeryn glares at him but remains quiet, busy fighting the urge to lean into the man's embrace. "You wanted to visit the museum, right? So, how about we sleep in, get breakfast, then maybe we can visit the alchemist and buy ingredients so you can make more, uh, blue goo - " Aeryn snorts offendedly, and Argis offers a shrug, " - and we can check the museum out, and maybe the other shops? The market might be open tomorrow." He adds suggestively with a raised eyebrow, the fucker having figured out Aeryn's weak-spot for trinkets. Ass. "And, if I remember correctly, there's a small bookstore. 'Scriptures of the Pale' or something like that."

Well, fuck.

Aeryn knows he's in no shape or form to fight like this, but that doesn't mean he won't do it anyway. The city's been haunted by nightmares for months, years maybe, and now this priest has finally found someone willing to try and end this mess with him and wants it to happen, understandably, as soon as possible. But, ugh, it sounds nice, doesn't it? When was the last time he had a lazy morning or strolled whichever way his feet decided to take him? Gods, when was the last time he did anything solely for himself? Must've been back in Bruma. Also, the guy's a priest of Mara; he'd understand that he needs to patch himself up? If he asks about it, he can say he got mauled by a wolf or something.

When his focus returns to the room, and the mirror, Argis is watching him, his hand still resting on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze as if to encourage him to take the offer. Aeryn hates that it works.

"Okay," he says, not as resounding as he hoped. Honestly, as nice as the image of leisure is, it's... Daunting. He's the Dragonborn, as everyone keeps reminding him; is he allowed to have time off? If it wasn't for Argis being there, he'd over-think the entire thing and get stuck in an endless loop of what "if's" until he gives up and keeps hunting down quests. He quirks an eyebrow at the incredulous expression on the Nord's face.

"... O - oh, you're not going to, uh - "

"Do you want me to? Because I can - "

"N - no! No, no, not at all." 

A relieved smile forms on Argis' lips, and he gives his shoulder another squeeze before stepping away, sliding his hand out from underneath Aeryn's, and disappears from the mirror. Aeryn curses himself for missing the contact and mind-melting warmth already and brushes a flicker of longing aside.

"Now." Argis appears by his side, looking a head taller and full ass sun brighter. Aeryn's lips stretch to a thin line because, fuck, how does he do it? How can he _glow_ like that after this whole disaster? "How about we get your hand dressed, and I'll clean this mess up so you can get some sleep, hm?"

"Do you have any idea how annoying you are?" Aeryn says, not knowing why he's got this need of jabbing at the man's sore spots or insult him on a regular basis.

Argis blinks, taken aback, then smiles that stupid, glowing smile again. "Yes, you never let me forget."

Gods, he's not taking him seriously, is he? "I hate you."

The Nord chuckles, _chuckles_ , how dare he,and lightly pats him on the shoulder, which isn't as bothering as Aeryn wants it to be. "So you keep saying."

White flames flash before Aeryn's eyes. "Because I _do_!" he snaps. "I'll leave you to rot the second you fall beh - "

"I know, I know," Argis croons and walks away, grabs Aeryn's backpack off the floor, and brings it with him to the bed, where he sits down. "Come, let's sort your hand out. Where do you keep the bandages?"

Aeryn gawks at the mirror, as good as he can with half his face aching, then turns around to get a proper look at the man, who watches him expectantly.

Un - _fucking_ \- fazed. 

It's as disheartening as it is relieving. Aeryn finds that he doesn't know how to react, so he keeps staring at the Nord, who tilts his head to the side and smiles softly, and desperately tries to grab onto a feeling or thought to use as fodder for his anger, anything to put him in his place. Argis speaks before he gets the chance to catch something.

"You okay?" he asks as if he doesn't know exactly what he's doing, and maybe he doesn't, because he's stupid, but it makes Aeryn's hands tremble.

"I'll bleed you out," he seethes between his teeth, but, to his dismay, he's met with a grin, not fear or caution.

"I'm _sure_ you will," Argis says and pats his hand on the bed, defusing Aeryn's growing anger like a bucket of water over a candle. "Sit down. You can kill me once your hand's dealt with."

If it's his head or feet who does the deciding, Aeryn doesn't know, but he's shuffling across the room with a pout and plops down beside the Nord, who wields an arguably smug look on his face.

"I _will_ cut your throat."

"Mhm. Give me your hand."

"I'm seri - ouch!"

"Sorry."

"I'm serious!"

"Sure. Can you spread your fingers a little?"

"... It hurts."

"I'll be gentle."

"If you hurt me, I'll - fuck, ouch!"

"Well, if you stop wriggling, it won't be as uncomfortable."

"... Idiot."

"Mmh."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jathsogur is a smoking powder used by Bosmers.  
> There is, unfortunately, no bookshop in Dawnstar. Or a market, but hey, I like to dream.


	26. A lung full of peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew that a day free from Bandit hunting and Dragon killing and cave crawling could have such a positive effect on someone whose existence is created by the Gods to carry the weight of the world? Argis likes the results. A lot.

Out of all the days Argis has spent with Aeryn, this one comes on top as one of his favorites so far.

He doesn't mind waiting two hours for the elf the following morning, taking the time to compose a letter to Jordis, and when Aeryn descends the stairs, it's with an aura of calm Argis recognizes from the city strolls in Markarth. However, it feels real this time, even behind the colorful bruises. The tug on the corners of his mouth is genuine compared to the forced smiles of assurance he gave the citizens, and there's a softness in his eyes that makes it hard for Argis to look away. He doesn't fight it.

Their breakfast isn't hurried in order to escape harsh temperatures and move on, and Aeryn isn't snarling at him in a state of drowsy irritation, which is enough to spark joy, and Argis can't tell if he's excellent at appreciating small things in life, or if Aeryn has set the bar extremely low.

Argis is still the one taking up most space in the conversation, but Aeryn isn't ignoring him, rather dropping out of focus before replying, allowing for these moments of silence where Argis can try and work out what spins around inside the elf's head when his eyes drift.

When talking about Argis' previous life, he even asks a question back; "which job did you regret the most?" to which the answer is the one time he escorted a group of women between Falkreach and Riften with a fellow hireling, and they spent the entire trip listening to gossip about the noble families of Riften, learning that, apparently, Maven Blackbriar has a fondness for silk undergarments and sleeps with candles lit. He shudders at the memory of aching ears and headaches, but it's worth Aeryn chuckling into his tea, splashing some of it onto his nose.

As expected, the priest appears more concerned with the state of Aeryn's face rather than him not being able to assist with the temple and assures him that "I'm glad I'll have your help, and I wouldn't demand you join me when you're not in the best shape." Aeryn triple checks that it's okay before promising that yes, he's going to take care of his injuries, and yes, he is going to drink water.

Leaving the inn, they're met with a clear blue sky and crisp air that bites their cheeks and stings down their lungs. The temperature is low enough to solidify the top layer of the thick carpet of snow off the side of the inn, which catches Aeryn's immediate attention. He spends ten minutes trying to wrap his head around the phenomenon, prodding the crunchy layer with his toes, discovering that it can hold his weight with the astonishment of a child spotting a frog for the first time, and Argis fears his heart might burst at the sight.

He beams as Aeryn explores the snow, adding different amounts of weight, stomping, and jumping until he comes upon a weak spot, and sinks down to his calves with a yelp.

The high-pitched, helpless sound combined with the look of betrayal snaps Argis' self-control like a dry twig, and he clutches his stomach, laughter twisting his muscles and lungs until he's wheezing, tears burning cold on his cheek, all while Aeryn swears death over him and tries to step out of the hole. When he manages to gain enough control to look over, the elf is battling to keep a straight face, which cracks up when their eyes meet, and Argis is again reminded of how horrifyingly amazing that ear-piercing cackling is, which warms the frostbite on his face.

It's worth ten times the face-full of snow he gets once Aeryn eases over to safety.

The main roads crisscrossing the city and the plaza is cleared enough to enable safe passage, with the occasional icy patch catching citizens off guard, followed by flailing arms and embarrassed chuckling. Aeryn warily slides one foot ahead of the other when they approach the market, glaring at Argis whenever he can't keep his amusement to himself. If he knew Aeryn was this bad with ice when he isn't skating around a Dragon, he might've introduced him to a frozen lake simply for the entertainment.

Aeryn's excitement fades when they reach the round plaza and its many stalls, his posture shrinking as they mingle with the group of people and vendors. He glances around, keeps his face well hidden under his hood while browsing the variety of wares, everything from winter apples to furry boots to necklaces and wooden toys.

"I've got you," Argis says when Aeryn looks over his shoulder for the tenth time, showing an assuring smile. "I promise."

"... Right. Um. Alright."

It takes them about an hour to go through all the stalls, despite the market being a third of the size of Solitude's. Aeryn purchases a pair of hare-lined gloves after a lot of contemplation and a new pair of socks, and as they leave for the bookstore, he drops his old gloves on the lap of a woman huddling on the ground near the inn, along with a few coins.

Inside the store, Argis' previous interest in searching for books fades as he finds himself watching Aeryn where he leans against a bookshelf, tip of his tongue sticking out at the corner of his mouth, frowning as his eyes move up and down the pages of the book he's browsing, slender fingers caressing the edge of the cover. It bothers Argis that he knows so little about Aeryn, that all he gets is glimpses like these, of a man who's capable of wielding more expressions than the three main ones he shifts between when they're on the road; frustrated, angry, or irritated.

Today, though, it's like that hard, outer layer is peeled back enough for a graceful softness to peek through in the way Aeryn relaxes against the shelf, hums and clicks his tongue, and slides the book back between its replicas. Argis can't help but wonder what he's like privately, when there's no impending doom hanging over the world, when he's had a good night's rest and a full day of nothing ahead. Does he remain in bed, stretching and snoozing and rubbing his face in the pillow until he gets too bored to stay? Would he take his time carefully brewing tea with some exciting new herbs and savor the taste with a book on his lap, as he does on those early mornings in camp? Maybe he takes walks in the forest, searching for pretty flowers to place around his home, a speck of beauty to appreciate while cooking lunch? What would his home even look like, and would he prefer it on the ground or in the sky?

Aeryn sighs, not frustrated, rather content, and steps back to search the upper shelves, head moving from side to side until it stills to the upper left. Argis folds his arms and rests against the wall, a smirk creeping up his lips while Aeryn sets his hands to his hips, staring at whatever title he set his eyes on, two shelves above his head. He glances to the sides, missing Argis, who's positioned behind him, then pushes up on his toes, hand reaching for the book. He mutters something and pushes up further, touching the base of the book, but not enough to grab the sides, and tries to grasp the edges of it with his trimmed nails.

Argis curls his lips inward, bites down onto them not to laugh at Aeryn's wriggling fingers, and collects himself enough not to crack before pushing off the wall. Aeryn jerks as his shadow blocks the light and twirls around with such haste he stumbles against the bookshelf, eyes wide, not so much in fear as in surprise.

"I - uh... You want something?"

He could ask if Aeryn wants his help, but if he's learned anything, it's that he'd refuse, so Argis simply plucks the book from the shelf and hands it to him.

"There you go," he says with a light smile and battles laughter down his throat at the confusion in Aeryn's eyes, his slightly parted lips, and the rosy blush tinting the tips of his ears that's got nothing to do with the temperature inside the toasty warm store.

Blinking, Aeryn takes the book, stares at it as if it morphed into a nugget of gold, and mumbles a "thanks", then turns away and hides his face between pages filled with illustrations of tree roots. Argis smiles and returns to the fiction section.

They cross the street over to the museum once Aeryn purchases a book and sells one in return, and Argis spots creases between his eyebrows.

"Something wrong?"

Aeryn hesitates, then gazes up at Argis with uncertain eyes. "You sure this is alright?"

"What is?"

"You know... Not saving the world today."

"I'm sure. Even heroes need time to catch their breath."

Aeryn snorts and kicks snow off his boots before pushing the door open to the museum, a bell chiming as they enter.

It's a medium-sized room with a couple of display cases, dark red tapestry with motives of yellow suns hanging between the windows, all lit by wall sconces and large chandeliers. It's modest compared to the images Argis had in mind for what a place like this could look like, half-expecting shrines and a ticket booth for blood sacrifices. Maybe they just don't do that upfront.

The man approaching them wears one of the infamous red robes and welcomes them warmly, then proceeds to ask them about their knowledge of the Mythic Dawn before laying out their entire history without being asked to, pridefully pointing out his blood bond with them. At least he's enthusiastic about the subject, as controversial as it might be, and the many collectibles, showing off books and clothing and weapons as he leads them through the room.

Argis meets Aeryn's gaze, both of them shrugging and following along as the man, Silus, continues to point at different artifacts and speak highly about their immense value in history, as well as the unfair treatment of his family and ancestors.

Thought, when he _casually_ mentions that there's one artifact left, a dagger of sorts, that's been split into pieces and is currently kept in different parts of Skyrim, and how he'd "pay anything for someone to help bring them back", Argis' eye narrows to a slit.

"Sooo, what, it's broken up and shared between people?" Aeryn inquires because, of course, he'd be intrigued by jumping on a mission that'll set him off wandering another lap around the continent, which he definitely doesn't need right now.

They've been on the road since the early days of Rain's Hand, now inching closer to Midyear, and barely once have they stopped at the same place for more than a night if not to heal injuries. While knowing this would be the case, Aeryn did warn him, the elf' got enough on his plate to add a game of hide and seek with bits of a blade. Anyone with an adventurous mind and all the time in the world can pledge to do an errand like that.

Silus hesitates when meeting Argis' dark glare, then clears his throat. "It's, ah, well, yes, but you look like someone who's got a busy schedule. Travelers, perhaps?"

"Sort of," Aeryn says and shrugs. "But, do you know where they are? Maybe I'll be heading that way."

Argis closes his hand around the pommel of his sword and stares the man down from over Aeryn's shoulder, raising a daring eyebrow while shaking his head. Silus swallows.

"Well, I - no. I haven't gotten that much information yet, so it remains a dream of mine to find this magnificent piece of weaponry. I pray that Lord Dagon may one day come to me and share this knowledge so that I may find them and restore the glory of his razor. But, oh, I have a few things that needs tending to, so please, enjoy the exhibition as long as you like! Thank you for taking the time."

With that, he bows his head, then disappears in a flurry of flowy red fabric into a joint room, leaving the two men to their own. While it isn't up to Argis to decide how Aeryn, his - still - Thane, should spend his time, knowing what he does so far, they'd end up on an expedition that'll add additional weight on Aeryn's crumbling conscience. And Argis, somewhere realizing that he's growing quite fond of these rare, precious moments when the elf isn't sour, vows to the task of protecting him from anything, or anyone, that might ruin his chances of seeing more of them.

For Aeryn's sake, of course. Mostly.

"Huh." Aeryn turns with a puzzled frown, meeting Argis' pretend confusion, then turns towards the door. "What was that about?"

Argis follows and holds it open up for him, shrugging. "No clue."

Inside the Mortal and Pestle, the air is humid and thick with a scent of honey and rosemary, the sudden change in temperature making Argis' skin tingle. It's a relatively small shop with crowded shelves, a messy worktable pushed up in a corner, and a large, roaring hearth by one of the walls, surrounded by standing and hanging racks filled with herbs. The only other person inside except the elderly woman behind the counter is a guard that lingers near the door, all tall-standing and formal, shield out and hand on their sword.

The owner gladly lends Aeryn the worktable after he explains his situation, and after ensuring he'll be alright by himself for a moment - "I'm not a child, you idiot, I'll be fine!" - Argis uses the time it takes Aeryn to make a new batch of cream to get his appearance taken care of across the street.

By the time he returns, he finds Aeryn on a chair by the fire, a steaming cup in hand, absorbed in discussion with the elderly woman that has him sitting on the edge of the seat. Argis lingers just inside the door for a moment, indulging in the view of this intrigued guy who makes hurried gestures and nods and adds, 'I know, right?'s now and then, until he notices the guard watching him. There's a smile in her eyes peering out behind the helmet that makes Argis suddenly aware of himself, and he clears his throat, nods politely, then proceeds into the room.

"Hey, you okay?"

Aeryn's eyes still shimmer with delight when he looks up, the green taking an ember tone from the flames. He opens his mouth but pauses when his gaze wanders across Argis' face; the scraggly growth on his cheeks and neck has been shaved clean, leaving a joint, neatly trimmed mustache, and beard. It's a look he could contain while living in Markarth, and while a fuller beard does help to keep his face warm, he's missed the feel. Even Skyrim, in all her harshness, allows a little bit of vanity.

"Yeah, uh, everything's fine," Aeryn says and finds Argis' gaze again. The woman gets up and moves around to the kettle hanging above the fire, pouring another cup, then disappears from view. "The cream needs to settle, so we're just, uh, waiting. You, um, you done with your... Thing?"

"Yes, all done." Argis touches the smooth skin on his cheek. It's a little oily, the faint, woodsy scent lingering from the treatment. "What do you think?"

Aeryn blinks, and the delight shifts to confusion. "What I...? Oh. Uh. It's... Fine."

For someone who's very expressive when it comes to declaring dislike, that's a little insulting. "' _Fine_ '"?

Aeryn fidgets on the chair. "W - well, I don't know anything about facial hair!"

"You don't have an opinion on it simply because you don't have any yourself?"

"It's uh..." Aeryn hides his face in his cup and mumbles something into the content, shoulders creeping up to his ears.

"Sorry?"

"I said it suits you," he snaps and stands, the chair screeching against the floor. Argis jumps aside when he sweeps past, clutching the cup to his chest. "I need to check the cream."

Argis frowns and watches him disappear to the workspace across the store. What did he do to deserve that this time? "Thank you...?"

Muffled chuckling catches his attention, and he looks over to the door where the elderly woman and the guard, who's taken her helmet off to drink from the cup she's been given, are watching him with amusement wrinkling their eyes. They both smile innocently when Argis lifts an eyebrow.

He's missing something, isn't he?

Godammit.

-

If Argis was in charge, he'd command Aeryn to stay in bed for at least three more days, or until the bruising yellows and the redness in his eye fades. Knowing Aeryn, he wouldn't sit around "doing nothing" for another hour, so they leave for Nightcaller Temple with the priest the following morning.

He can't count the hours passing inside the dingy old place as they battle their way through awakened orcs and deadric devotees and magic barriers and whatnots, but the air has never felt as fresh as when they ascend the depts of the temple and back into the snow on heavy legs, the bright light blinding against the white landscape. This time, he doesn't mind the piercing throb in his eye.

With one less daedric prince's meddling to worry about, they make their way back to town, bidding the priest goodbye as he returns to the inn, and the two stop by the White hall to tell them the news of the nightmare situation being taken care of, stepping right into a loud argument between Jarl Skald and some poor servant taking a verbal beating over wanting to enlist into the military. Argis never spent any time around the Jarl, but you don't need to stay in Dawnstar for long to hear the towns people's opinions on the man and his crazed devotion to the Stormcloaks, threatening to execute people left and right if they even breathe in the Legion's direction.

The meeting is brief, and Argis spends most of it biting his tongue when Aeryn doesn't shy away from sharing his opinions on the lack of assistance they've offered in order to help with the nightmare business, praying they'll leave the building with their heads intact. The Jarl doesn't particularly care for Aeryn's lack of manners, which comes as a surprise for Argis as well, especially compared to his way around the court in Solitude, and the second Aeryn snatches the pouch of gold from the housecarl's hands, they're ordered to leave.

"And don't you bother returning here, _Dragonborn_. You're nothing but a pet of the Graybeards. Ulfric Stormcloak, on the other hand, will lead our people to victory, so whatever powers you claim to wield won't be needed here."

Aeryn grins around his inhuman canines and slowly turns on his heels, facing the Jarl again. "Oh, is that so? Well, if you think for a second that Ulfric will be of any assistance when the World Eater comes down to fry your asses off this blasted piece of land, you're more of an idiot than you make yourself look, which, I'll say, is impressive." He turns again and marches towards the doors, calling over his shoulder, "Enjoy burning to a crisp, my Jarl!"

-

It's evening when the two rejoin in the dining hall after Aeryn spent time looking after his injuries, which keeps improving, and Argis spends the dinner trying to get an answer out of the elf as to why he suddenly acted so uncivilized in the White Hall. He doesn't get a more detailed response than "I fucking hate assholes in seats of power," and his attempts are disrupted when a courier approaches with a letter.

"Um, you okay?" Argis asks when Aeryn's posture slopes more and more the further his eyes move down the parchment, until he's slouching like a sack of old potatoes. He then drops the letter on the table and buries his face in his hands with a long, disquieting groan. Argis' stomach turns. "Aeryn?"

"Y'ffre, what did I do to deserve all this suffering?" he says against his palms, then slams a hand down the letter, making Argis jump. He meets Argis' eye with the despair of a man who's lost everything. Argis carefully raises an eyebrow. "It's from the Jarl of Whiterun. Speaking of assholes..."

Argis' eyebrows drop down in a frown. "Oh?"

Aeryn crumbles the letter into a ball, slowly inhaling as his fingers whiten around the piece of paper, then speaks between his teeth, "He demands that I attend some fucking dinner party."

"What?" Argis shakes his head a little. " _Demands_? Why would you do that? You're the Dra - uh." He glances around the busy area, lowering his voice even though no one gives them much attention. "You've got more important things to do than dine with him."

Hesitance flashes in Aeryn's face, a look Argis has seen on his little brother's face when he's sneaking around keeping secrets, which can only mean trouble. He leans back in the chair, palms flat on the table. "What?"

"What?"

"What aren't you telling me about Whiterun?"

"Nothing! It's just..." He lets go of the letter poke at his untouched fork, shifting it just slightly side to side. Argis' lips flatten. 'Nothing', huh?

"It's just that, uh, I don't really have a choice."

"Why not?"

"Um." He rubs the dull metal between his fingers. "You know how, if Jarl Igmund orders me back to Markarth, I have to answer the call?"

"Yeah? But that's because you're - ..." Argis confusion slowly melts for surprise to take place. He leans forward on an elbow and drags a hand across his face, huffing a dry laugh as he rests his chin in his palm. Unbelievable. "You're Thane of Whiterun _too_?"

Aeryn peers up between orangey strands of hair falling down his forehead, showing a small, toothy smile. "Uh... Yeah?"

Right. A surprise, but hardly a shock, considering how Aeryn immediately involved himself in city matters when he showed up in Markarth and how he throws himself at people's personal quests, he'd assume it's a trait or a deep-seated urge to be of help. Kind of like Argis'.

"Aha. And when did you have time to become that? I thought you hadn't been here that long."

"Oh, well, you know." Aeryn chuckles nervously and spins the fork in slow circles. "When people find out you're good at killing Dragons, there isn't much left to discuss." He glances around the bustling room, those crowding the tables busy eating or chatting or arguing. He pokes his tongue against his cheek. "I sort of just... _Happened_ , and then I helped out with that Dragon attack and some stuff around town, and the Jarl practically threw the title at me, fancy sword and everything. And who doesn't want someone with my title as a pretty badge?"

So, he doesn't just have obligations to Markarth; he's tied to Whiterun too, as well as the entire world. Geez. Maybe that's why he's been so relaxed today; having put all his responsibilities aside, he's finally allowed above the surface for a breath.

They need more days off.

"But, what about the whole... The _other_ stuff that you're working on?"

Aeryn shrugs lightly and lifts the fork, balances it on the table with teeth down, a fingertip pressed against the other end. "I'm still waiting for the mossy old guys to contact me about the next step. I did some things down south, gathered stuff, and talked with people, so I'm just... Waiting. Wandering, fixing stuff, smooth-talking Jarls or diplomats or whoever needs to get their head out of their ass about this whole mess."

"Well, Jarl Skald - "

" - can burn in a slow, painful death for all that I care."

Argis lips flatten, and he gives Aeryn a half-serious look. "The town, though?"

"Didn't you hear him? Ulfric will save them all, I have no reason to interfere." Aeryn waves the fork around as if he tries to summon a spell from it. "If they don't want my help, they can go fuck themselves."

"... Right. So, um. When is this dinner?"

Aeryn lets out an exasperated sigh and drops the fork to his plate, then unfolds the ball of paper. He hums and taps his fingers against the table, one at a time, and groans. "About three weeks from now. Shit." He runs his fingers into his hair, fists it. "I _hate_ dinners."

"Why?"

Aeryn throws him an incredulous look. "You've been sitting next to a Jarl for ages, haven't you attended a formal dinner?"

"Well, I have, but I've been stationed in the background as part of security. I never attended them as a guest."

Aeryn sinks down in the chair with a pout and drops his hands to the table, picking the fork back up to fiddle with. "Lucky you."

"You've been a guest, then?"

"... Yeah," he exhales after a few seconds pause, studying the fork. "I've been forced to sit through a few. They're all the same, people whipping out and comparing dicks, then the rest of the time is spent arguing over who's the biggest one and why they deserve more praise or pay or estates."

Argis snorts as a wave of colorful imagery floods his brain, and he quickly down another two gulps of mead to try and wash them away, though not without chuckling at the ludicrous pictures. That sure would be a more, uh, _interesting_ dinner than the ones he's watched over in Markarth. Glancing over, there's a spark of amusement in Aeryn's eyes. He grins.

"Cant' get it out of your head now, can you?"

"Nope. This dinner is going to be an awkward experience."

"Better than painfully dull and life-sucking."

"I'm not sure I want to add 'sucking' into an image involving the Jarl of Whiterun," Argis says with a shudder, and not wanting to think about it only makes it worse, but Aeryn bursts into laugher, loud enough that nearby patrons turn their head and frowns at the sound, but Argis couldn't have asked for a better turn of events. If it's worth the image or not, that's up for debate, but Argis revels in that warm, tingling sensation in his chest anyway.

Alright, Whiterun it is, then.


	27. Sweet little menaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spending time with Aeryn when he isn't constantly boiling with anger has opened Argis' eye to what other qualities hide behind the elf's protective mask, and it's stirring something inside of him that doesn't line up with his duties.
> 
> Also, they run across a scene Argis never imagined he'd ever witness, and it's surprisingly adorable.
> 
> And then there are mammoths. A lot of them. It ends quite badly, but also perfectly.

It's early noon when Argis and Aeryn ride out of Dawnstar, course set for Whiterun. It's a gray day with fist-sized snowflakes hitting them from the side, with icy winds easily finding its way into the smallest gaps of clothing. 

It throws a heavy hit on Aeryn's mood.

During these last two days, it's like the elf has been transformed. There have been ups and downs, but nowhere near the extremes Argis has sat through on the road, and for the most part, Aeryn's been relaxed. _Gracious_ , almost, in the way he moved and ate and lazily licked his finger to flip through pages of his new book, curled up in his furry cloak near the fire in Argis' room. He showed up after tending to his wounds the second day, claiming snow had soaked the firewood in his hearth through the chimney. Now, Argis is no professional when it comes to chimney construction, but he's pretty sure they don't work that way. 

Though, when Aeryn made himself comfortable in the chair, curling up to a ball of white, content fluff, he kept his doubts to himself, choosing to enjoy the company he's grown so accustomed to.

Out here in the storm, there are no sights of that pleased tug on the elf's mouth; it's busy cussing the world behind the black neck gaiter, swearing to an array of Gods Argis' never heard of that he'll never return this far up north again. Oh well, it's been a pleasant two days, and Argis keeps bringing up the images of a soft, happy elf whenever he snarls in response or vocalizes his hate for Skyrim.

Despite the unforgiving storm, Aeryn doesn't seem to be in a rush to get to Whiterun. They ride at a leisurely pace, and he doesn't hurry through the morning routines of waking and preening and eating and packing up. The second morning, and the first when the snow's let up enough for them to eat breakfast around the fire, Argis asks about it, and gets a curse in return.

"Mind telling me what's wrong instead?" 

Aeryn huffs, the fur wrapped around his pulled-up knees bowing at the burst of air, then buries his face into it. "The fucking party," he mutters after a minute.

 _'Well, look at that, if it isn't a grain of progress.'_ "And that you don't want to go?"

"Mmh."

"You don't think it'll be even a little fun?" he offers, then bites his tongue when Aeryn's glowering eyes peek above his knees, still bleary and swollen, which only adds to the promise of a slow, painful death. Argis holds his palms up. "Alright, alright. But it's only one night, right?"

Aeryn buries his face in the fur again. "Yeah."

"I'm sure it'll be fine. If anything, I'll be there with you and do my best to make your night a little more endurable."

Less angry eyes meet his. "How? You gonna start a fight?"

Argis snorts amusedly. "What? No, I won't start any fights."

Disappointed eyes glance aside. "Boring."

"I'm sure it won't have to come to that. If anything, there'll be some good food there."

"Probably. And free alcohol."

It's not that Argis doesn't know that miracles are a thing of wishful thinking and prayer, but it still twists his gut enough to sting. "... Yeah. Yeah, that too."

-

They are four days into the journey when Aeryn pulls Frost to a halt, a wary gaze in his eyes as they scan the surrounding forest. They travel a minute away from the main road, away from any carriages pulling people and goods, as well as marauders and the potential, stab-happy cultists. It's easier to maneuver between the trees now as they've reached warmer temperatures, enough to melt the snow from skinny branches and reveal patches of ground here and there, much to Aeryn's delight, and Argis', who's looking forward to fewer death threats.

"Dragon," he says suddenly, tentatively. "But it feels... Off."

"Off? Off how?"

"I don't know. It's... Different. Not as..." he waves his hand helplessly, frowning at the forest. "Intense?"

A few seconds of confused silence follows before he motions Frost to a walk between the trees, Argis following close by, and they maneuver the sparse forest for about half an hour before Aeryn stops again, now in a clearing. 

Ruins of a watchtower stand on a rocky hill, partly collapsed ramparts connecting it to the mountainsides, once effectively protecting whatever's hiding behind the high walls. Massive stone blocks lay scattered down the slope, and an overgrown, cobbled path leads the way between the tower and the beaten road they've exited onto.

Aeryn slides off Frost's back, gives him a couple of rough pats on the neck, and then pulls his head down to eye-level.

"Stay here," he orders and ruffles Frost's blond forelock, getting a snort in reply before the horse walks off to a pine tree, tail whipping from side to side. Aeryn rolls his eyes, then turns to Argis, who stands ready for whatever they are about to do, and jabs a finger in his direction. "You as well."

Argis' eyebrows shoot up. "What? No, I'm not letting you - "

"Stay," Aeryn repeats firmly, eyes hardening, "here. If there's a Dragon back there, I don't need you to trip over something and get us both killed." He holds Argis' gaze as he backs up toward the cobbled path, keeps pointing at him. "I'll call if I need help."

With that, he turns and swiftly ascends the slope, the aggressive incline and heavy snow not slowing him down the least, and Argis huffs. 

"I'm not _that_ clumsy," he grumbles and folds his arms the best he can with his shield in the way, following Aeryn's graceful movements as he climbs the rubble of the rampart, hunching down as he reaches the top and slinks out of view behind the parapets. What he lacks in physical strength, he makes up for in agility, and Argis spends a few minutes of waiting time to ponder how Jaqspurs train in order to become so... Bendy and lightsome. 

Concluding that he needs to ask Aeryn about his training one day, Argis lazily kicks at the snow around his feet, listens and watches for anything that might be a sign of alarm or danger. Nothing but birds and skittering rabbits. _'Great.'_

He's grown both frustrated and bored by the time a faint squeak reaches his ears, sounding from somewhere behind the ruins. He stiffens, focuses his hearing, and a similar sound finds him again after a minute. 

"What in the world...?"

Moments later, Aeryn's head pops up behind the paparet, his vibrant hair standing out like flames against the gray sky, and waving at him to come over.

Throwing a look at Vól, who's busy grazing at what grass is available underneath the snow, Argis crosses the road and heads for the path. He follows Aeryn's tracks along what's rest of the rampart and finds an area where it's possible to step inside and get up the remnants of a staircase to the tower. 

Cautiously, Argis climbs the cracked steps, holding on to whatever pieces of wall still standing, and stumbles to the ground the second he sets a foot onto the top of the tower. Aeryn's squatting beside him, gripping the collar of his armor and holds a cold, gloved hand over his mouth. Argis frowns, both at the fact that the elf so easily caught him off guard and tripped him to the ground, and at the amused sparkle in his eyes. He doesn't get time to analyze the situation before hearing that sound again, louder now, like a high-pitched squeal.

A smirk grows on Aeryn's lips, and he removes the hand from Argis' mouth, motioning him to keep low, quiet, and follow. Doing his best to move silently, he follows Aeryn to the other side of the tower, the one facing away from the road, jaw dropping to the ground when he peeks over the edge of the low wall. 

Below them, in a vast crater bordered by mountainsides and ramparts, sits the memories of a town near the size of Windhelm, nestled away from the rest of the world. Every building is collapsed, retaken by nature; trees have sprouted between houses, reaching their naked branches over missing rooftops, surrounded by snow-covered shrubbery that's taken root wherever the ground allows, lining old stone paths and hugging cracked foundations.

And, where a plaza once served as the meeting place for whoever lived here, now serves as the home for a Dragon.

Argis' blood turns cold; it's close enough to admire the shimmer of frosty blue scales, reflected even in this dull light, to count the gnarly spikes growing along its spine from its curled up position in a round, bird-like nest, but apparently far away enough to not catch their scent. Does Dragons even have a good sense of smell?

Before he gets a chance to try and ask Aeryn, a sharp yelp catches his attention, and, out between a couple of ruins, gallops another Dragon. Though, this one is the size of a horse, not a longhouse.

Argis grips the edge of the wall and leans in, as if the scene will make more sense a few inches closer, and watches in disbelief as this, relatively, small Dragon enthusiastically flaps its wings with no effect, only to step on them and tumble to the ground with a pathetic squeal. Argis puts a hand over his chest, sure his heart just exploded, hearing Aeryn muffling a chortle at his side.

A deep, low rumble vibrates across the crater, causing the hairs on his arms to stand on end, and the adult stretches out, wings spanning out and shadowing a quarter of the surrounding buildings. As it gets up, three additional babies are revealed, hiding under its wing, curled up like lethal dumplings, squeaking when their source of warmth and protection steps out of the nest. 

The clumsy baby lies defeated on the ground and only gets up when the adult nudges it, its head bigger than the baby itself, and then proceeds to flail its too many limbs around as it gallops back the way it came, onward to new adventures. Meanwhile, the sleepy trio gets moving as well; two of them start fighting, biting each other in the necks and rolling around in the nest, while the third stumble out of it to reach the adult, and nips at its heel to get attention in the form of nose-nuzzling. The small one's scales are much darker than the adult's, possibly to help them blend in with nature until they're big enough to fend for themselves.

Argis doesn't stop staring until he feels something brush against his arm, and a whiff of lilac reaches his nose. Glancing aside, Aeryn sits close by, a gentle smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes. As if he isn't crumbling under responsibility and bitterness; rather watching a couple of puppies tumble around and play with no worries in the world. Calm and gentle. Argis blinks, then smiles as well, as a tingly sort of warmth spreads in his chest.

"Quite amazing, huh?" Aeryn says, his voice barely a whisper, and keeps watching the little family. His one eyebrow is still half after the fireball hitting them at the ritual temple, only four short hairs have grown back, and there are a few small scars and nicks Argis hasn't noticed before. 

Of course, last time he was this close, he was pulling shards from Aeryn's face in the light of two lanterns, now recalling how soft his skin felt under his thumb. A thought flutters by, startling him, as he finds himself wondering if the rest of the elf is just as soft, and quickly shakes his head, slapping the thought away.

_'Don't. You're a Housecarl - nothing more.'_

"Yeah," he says and turns his focus back to the Dragons. "I thought... Weren't they raised from the dead?"

Aeryn shrugs. "Yeah. I didn't know they could, you know, have babies." Argis catches him glancing at him and meets a fondness in his eyes that's new. "They're cute, though."

Argis smiles and dips his head to the side and up again. "Never thought Dragons could be cute."

They continue watching the small ones hop around and play while the adult settles back in the nest, keeping their eyes on them, seemingly clueless about their presence.

"How come it can't sense you?"

Aeryn slowly shakes his head. "I have no idea. Must be because of the babies. Maybe they fuck with her senses or something?"

"Hm. A guess as good as any."

It feels strange to watch this fearful, doom-bringing creature rest peacefully as their curious, energic offspring tumbles around and yaps and squeals, like a bear or a wolf would. Argis always thought of them as something too outlandish to resemble anything he knows of, yet here it is, another marvel he never imagined he'd experience.

"Let's go. Before she notices us," Aeryn whispers and moves out of Argis' view, who frowns and looks over his shoulder.

"You're leaving them?"

Aeryn stills and turns enough to meet his eye, a sudden seriousness overtaking his countenance. 

"I'm not slaying a family, or a mother, at least not until the small ones are big enough to go on without her. They're not hurting anyone down here." He wrinkles his nose. "I'm not a fucking monster."

"I know."

"Good."

They leave as quietly as they came, and Argis throws glances back at the ruined ramparts as they ride back towards the main road. Gods, Dragon babies? And here he thought it couldn't get much more exciting.

Unfortunately, he only has to wait until the following late night for the next adrenaline spike, when he's abruptly woken by Aeryn's frantic yelling from outside the tent, followed by a deep thunder vibrating through the earth. Stumbling to his feet, he barely gets time to grab his sword and step outside before Aeryn drags him away from their camp, situated at the edge of a meadow, before the thunder comes crashing down through the sparse forest in the form of a stampede.

With Aeryn as a guide, they sprint off between the trees, stumbling over slippery roots and dense shrubbery until reaching another clearing opening up to the meadow, far enough that they won't risk getting crushed. Aeryn stoops by a tree, catching his breath while Argis squints across the open area, panting, pulse hammering in his ears, watching shadows of mammoths disappear across the frozen field towards the low hills they passed earlier that day, faintly illuminated by the moon hiding behind a thin veil of clouds. _'Shor's Bone, too close.'_

Looking back at their camp, there's a glow where the fire roared a moment ago, and a new clearing leading up to it through the forest that served as protection. Aeryn's coughing grabs his attention, and Argis turns, barely making out his silhouette. 

"You okay?"

"Yeah," he manages between deep breaths and stands up straight. "Goddamn fucking mammoths."

The rumbling fades, and soon, the world falls back in silence. An unnerving feeling creeps up Argis' spine.

"The horses..?"

"Probably fine," Aeryn says, sniffing and slowly exhaling. "They ran off. Frost's stupid, but not _that_ stupid. Vól's probably with him."

Now might not be the time, but Argis gets caught on Aeryn's pronunciation of 'Vól'; where it's supposed to be an 'oh' sound, Aeryn says it with a hard 'o', and for some reason, hearing that he's got an accent is exciting.

Careful not to trip over anything, they make their way back to their camp, or what's left of it.

Argis practically hears Aeryn's soul leave his body when they stand over their tent, flattened to a rug together with Argis' belongings - Aeryn always keeping his bag close enough that he caught it before they ran - their lanterns, pots and pans and dishes, Aeryn's writing equipment, and their bedrolls. The campfire is as ruined as it could be; the rack is stomped to splinters, and not one stone is left in the circle they built, leaving only embers struggling to stay alive, and the leftover dinner is probably mixed with snow and earth now. Argis lays his sword down and sighs, combing a hand through his disheveled hair as he stands back up. Hopefully, his shield is in one piece somewhere under there, together with his mangled backpack. _'This is a bit more excitement than I hoped for.'_

"I can't," Aeryn groans, hands coming up to fist his hair. "Fuck, I can't with this."

"Hey, come now," Argis coos and moves in front of him, blocking the disaster from his view, and slowly, lightly, places his hands on his shoulders, only keeping them there as Aeryn doesn't slap them away. "We'll fix this, okay? We'll, um," he looks around to try and find anything they actually _can_ fix, "get another fire going and pick the tent back up. I'm sure we can find some sticks to keep it standing for the rest of the night and - "

Without warning, Aeryn leans forward and drops his forehead to Argis' chest with a deep, despondent sigh, shutting him up quicker than a tavern bard with a dagger to their throat.

"I give up," he whispers weakly against the plated armor, voice cracking. "I can't do this. Just kill me already and let someone else fix this shitty ass world."

Stunned by the sudden physical contact, Argis stares at the ruffled red hair, for a short moment wondering just _how_ much of a low he's hit to willingly be this close. Then he realizes just _how_ close he is. Maybe Argis is doing better than he thought? Or maybe Aeryn's just _that_ slow at growing comfortable with people. It blows Argis' pride up a little, but that feeling of victory is quickly swept aside for sympathy, as reality seems to have caught up with the elf, at last.

"I'm not going to kill you," he says softly and gives Aeryn's shoulders a light squeeze. "And we'll deal with this mess in no time, I promise."

"Fuck, I'm so sick of all this. It's always something."

"I know," Argis whispers, pity stinging in his chest, and slowly, hesitantly, shifts his arms to wrap them around Aeryn's shoulders, stilling at every inch, watching out for any sign of distress. There's twitching, but the elf doesn't pull away or object, and Argis exhales the breath he held when he connects his hands and arms around Aeryn's upper back, holding him like the fragile being he is behind all that pretending. "I know."

Gods, he feels so small, much smaller than Argis' noted standing beside him. So small that Argis is sure he could hide him from the world in his cloak, keep him warm and safe, provide a place where he won't have to face all this merciless pressure alone, where he can breathe.

He feels stupid for feeling good like this, to finally be able to provide comfort, to help, when Aeryn is disheartened. It's selfish, but he can't help the warmth in his chest, that he relishes in this rare moment of raw emotion and trust, knowing this shouldn't have anything to do with him.

_'Nothing more than a Housecarl.'_

It lasts for a couple of minutes, until the sound of hooves and snorting approaches, and Argis looks aside in time for their horses to return from wherever they stayed safe, relief of their safety adding to this selfish enjoyment. He releases Aeryn when he shifts and smiles warmly at the nervous gaze looking him over, probably searching for a sign of discomfort. Argis tilts his head aside.

"Was that okay?"

Aeryn pokes his tongue at the inside of his cheek and breaks eye-contact, shuffles his feet before nodding at the ground. The same guy that can shoot a bird mid-flight from horseback and shout flames. Argis' heart swells.

_'Sweeter than a baby Dragon.'_

"I'm always here," Argis says for the hundredth time, but he wants to make sure Aeryn knows he means it, and he'll keep saying it until he's threatened to death for it, then some more. The elf hums and prods at one of the stones from the campfire with his foot, then moves to look at the massacre behind Argis, sighing.

"You said something about fire?"

Argis' smile widens, and he steps aside to give the mess another look over in the faint light. "Yeah. We'll make a new fire, then take care of this." He glances at the elf and makes out a frown on his face. "Don't worry, we'll do it together. It'll be alright."

"You're so annoying," Aeryn mutters, and Argis chuckles, grinning at the hateful glare he receives.

"Glad you're feeling better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dragon babies?_ 'How,' you ask? 'Plot', I say. I want clumsy little lizards.  
> And, no, there are no ruins of a city hidden away in-game, unfortunately.


End file.
